PTSD
by AmphibianQueen
Summary: Set a few months after chapter 36: heavy and gritty content - you have been warned. This will make no sense whatsoever unless you have read 'We Can Make It If We Try'. The image is not my own.


**AN: hello all! Now, in case you're a new reader, I just want to let you know that this will make no sense whatsoever unless you've read 'We Can Make It If We Try' – so don't even bother ;)**

 **This is set a few months after Chapter 36, and I always wanted to explore this, but I didn't feel it fit in with the overall tone of that story. Also, I didn't want that story to become 'about' this as such, and don't think I could have done it any justice in a chapter or two. It's essentially a character exploration, and it's an insight into Rose's imperfections more than anything else. I think she can come across as a little 'perfect' at times and that annoys me, because she's far from it.**

 **Anyway, give it a read, and let me know what you think. It is 'canon' as they say! (:**

 **A xx**

His breath rattled through his lungs as he desperately tried to remain conscious. But it would be fine – wouldn't it? He was still alive - wasn't he? His breathing became steadily more laboured, and the words that he was desperately trying to choke from his dry mouth resonated in her ears, repeating themselves over and over until she was sure this had to be some sort of sick joke – some _nightmare_. This couldn't be happening to him, not to him. _Please_ , not him...

It wasn't exactly the life that drained from those astonishingly violet eyes, for she knew he had given up on living at this point, but, nevertheless, the fruitless struggle to _remain_ ceased, and he stared up at her, unseeing, his mouth still slightly open from where he had tried in vain to make her understand.

Rose awoke, gasping and covered in an icy sweat. The bedroom was in complete darkness, making her perifying recollection all the more vivid. Panicking, she tried to control her breathing but it was coming too quickly, and she could not keep up with it. But, all of a sudden, the small room was illuminated with a dim, yellowish light, and Morty took her in his arms, his eyes still half-closed in sleep and his dark blond hair in messy tufts around his face.

"Wha's the matter Rose?" he mumbled quietly into her hair as his hand rubbed soothing circles on her back. She did not answer, but she felt herself relax physically from his mere presence. He was here, he was fine. She could smell and feel the warmth coming from his skin and she sighed in relief against his chest.

"Jus' a nightmare?" he yawned as he pulled her back to lie with him.

She nodded and wriggled closer to him, and remembered nothing more.

-o-

She sat bolt upright in bed, the breath shuddering through her as she relived the nightmare again the following night. Morty opened his eyes blearily before he sat up next to her and pulled her tangled hair from her face.

"Another nightmare?" he mumbled as he squinted at her through the darkness.

Rose nodded and then realised that he couldn't really see her.

"Yes," she croaked, closing her eyes and leaning against him weakly.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she sniffed, her face buried in his neck.

"I think you've been working too hard," he whispered, stroking her cheek with his finger, "twelve hour days, five days a week is enough to take it out of anyone," he continued, "are you feeling stressed?"

Rose considered before she shook her head. She had only been working alongside Dr Wood since January, but the four months spent in Tarragon City's Pokémon Hospital had been thoroughly enjoyable. It was rewarding, she found, to visibly see the difference she was making every day. The work could be gruelling - for she was studying as well as working - as was the nature of her advanced placement, but she threw herself into both the modules and practical work and the results were evident. Dr Wood was highly impressed.

"Hmm," Morty said quietly, frowning, "well, we'll leave it for now. Let's get some sleep."

-o-

A month passed, and Morty sat alone at the table, unenthusiastically eating the leftover spaghetti from the night before. Their flat was quiet, and felt strangely empty. Morty glanced around spiritlessly, his eyes roving over the sofa with its brightly coloured blankets and cushions, over the kitchen cupboards painted a pale blue, and the high ceilings of the loft-like flat; the black steel beams standing out starkly against the painted white bricks.

Rose was at work. Again. He knew she wasn't sleeping well, for even when she wasn't having a nightmare he could feel her tossing and turning during the night, and he didn't understand why she didn't just ask for a day off. He knew that she was working well past her designated hours. Her tiredness was evident not only in her pale face, but also by the dark circles underneath her eyes which didn't appear to ever fade. They had barely spoken during the last month. She worked all day, and often she opted to work night shifts. When she returned from the hospital she seemed too exhausted to even eat, let alone make conversation with him. His own job as Tarragon City's Gym Leader – having taken over from Callisto – was also a demanding one, and on some nights he stumbled into bed, falling asleep before his head hit the pillow: Tarragon City was a lot larger than Ecruteak, and that meant more challengers.

Morty frowned to himself as he moved the dried remains of the microwaved pasta around his plate. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he hadn't really anything else to do. Sighing heavily, and trying hard not to feel resentful, he couldn't help but reflect that this wasn't what he had imagined, or indeed wanted, from married life. Their wedding had been small and came around very quickly; they married a mere month after his proposing to her. It felt like the right thing to do. She began her medical training in the new year, and he took over Callisto's Gym whilst she and Cristine went travelling together. It all fit perfectly, and they had been happy. It was her work, he was sure, that was the problem. She had been doing so _many_ hours…Morty blinked suddenly as he considered this fact: perhaps she had not been performing well in her examined work? It would make sense – she would want to work as hard as she could to improve her grades, and so would have taken as many hours as she could. He wasn't sure what to do, but more than anything he just wanted her to be happy again. He missed her.

-o-

"Come in," Dr Horatio Wood called as he heard a soft knock upon his office door. He smiled as he put down the x-rays of the Poochyena's now healed front leg: Rose had placed the pins perfectly during her first surgery.

"Morty?" he said in surprise as the young man appeared in his doorway, "Rose isn't here I'm afraid, she went to lunch about five minutes ago."

"That's good," Morty said quietly, moving into the room and closing the door behind him on the busy hospital corridor, "it's actually you I wanted to talk to."

"Well – is everything all right?" the young doctor asked, turning to face Morty and gazing intently at him through dark green eyes.

"You tell me," he said smiling, but it was short-lived, "how is Rose doing – on the course?"

Dr Wood's eyes lit up as he began to talk animatedly of her achievements, ones – he was sure to tell her husband – that were incredible after such a short amount of time in the field.

Morty nodded slowly, but Horatio could see that he was nonplussed.

"Why do you ask?" he said, his eyes narrowing.

Morty cleared his throat and swallowed before he spoke.

"I don't think she's particularly well," he sighed, "she hardly eats and I know for a fact she doesn't sleep…I thought maybe she was stressed, that she was failing…?"

"Quite the contrary," the doctor said with a frown. This did not sound like Rose at all. She was always bright and chirpy whenever he saw her.

"I thought maybe she was doing extra hours to try and catch up on her studies or procedures or something," Morty said, running his hands frustratedly through his dark blond hair.

"She _does_ work a lot of hours," Horatio said thoughtfully, "but I didn't realise she was unwell…"

"She's not unwell as such," Morty said quickly, he did not want Rose to think he had been saying such things – she hated being patronised, "she's just…not herself I suppose."

"Well we can't have her not eating and sleeping," the young doctor said with a kind smile, "leave it to me Morty, I'll insist she work fewer hours."

"Thank you," Morty breathed.

-o-

"Excellent job Rose, as always," Dr Wood beamed as he removed his surgical mask and cap. Despite her being the youngest of his surgical interns, she was always his first choice for assisting, especially for a procedure as long and complex as the Whipple.

"Thank you Dr Wood," she smiled, removing her gloves and wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead, "actually, I was going to ask you: I was reading up on pain relief in psychic types, and in the lab -"

"Rose, Rose! Forget the lab, I think you've done enough for one day – why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

Rose's mouth fell open. It was only two in the afternoon. She had arrived at six in the morning and the operation had taken only six hours, starting at eight o'clock. That was nothing. She wasn't tired.

"I feel fine," she said, brushing him off, "but in the lab there's this –"

"Seriously Rose," he said, taking hold of her shoulders, "go home and get some rest. The course is only going to get harder from now on – I wouldn't want you to fall ill."

Rose opened her mouth but couldn't bring herself to retaliate. Nodding slightly, and feeling hurt and shocked, she binned her operating scrubs and left.

She knew she should be grateful, really. She was pretty sure Morty didn't work on Wednesdays – how did she not know for certain? – and she would therefore be able to spend some time with him. It seemed like an age since she had last done that. However, she could feel her panic mounting as she made her way slowly through Tarragon's streets, coming ever closer to the little flat they shared. For some reason, and she could not, for the life of her, figure out why, she began to hope that he wasn't in. They weren't arguing or anything, so why didn't she want to see him?

She quietly let herself into the flat, and couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. The kitchen and living room were comprised of one open space – and he wasn't in. She made her way to the sofa and sat down onto it. Her hands were strangely restless, and she felt that she didn't really know what to do with them. Leaning back, she closed her eyes in an attempt to get some of the 'rest' that Dr Wood had insisted upon, but Morty's jumper was hung casually on the back of the sofa, and the spicy scent coming from it sent her mind into overdrive. Her hands began to shake, and behind her eyes she saw, once again, the life drain from his. She sat up quickly and leapt from the sofa, breathing hard.

"Calm down Rose," she muttered to herself, "just calm down…"

"Rose? Is that you?"

Her head snapped in the direction of the bathroom and Morty emerged from it, wiping his face with a towel, another tied around his bare waist. Her face turned white as she spotted him, and she took a small step backwards.

"Y-yes," she said, "obviously!" she gave a strangled laugh.

"Are you all right?" he frowned, moving towards her, "why are you back already?"

"Dr Wood told me to come home," she said quietly, "for some rest."

"Do you need rest?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

She quickly turned away, and gave another unconvincing laugh.

"No, no, not at all. I'm going to study I think – no use in wasting this time!"

She made her way to the West facing window, around which was a wall of bookshelves, and selected a large, dry looking volume. She made her way to the single armchair, and proceeded to read.

"Would you fancy going out somewhere?" he asked. He could hear the trepidation in his own voice and he became angry with himself – why on earth was he nervous?!

"No thanks," she said indifferently, turning the page, "I have an organic chemistry test next week – I could do with the extra revision."

Morty nodded slowly, his mouth tight. But she never once looked up from her book and she did not see his face.

-o-

Rose finally looked up when the front door slammed shut, and she felt more than a little guilty. She didn't know what was wrong with her. He was her _husband_ for crying out loud. It made no sense, and she knew it, that whilst she dreamt of him dying nearly every night and woke up in a cold sweat, she could not bring herself to be with him in the day. Why was that? Re-living his death nearly killed her - she thought she'd be a little more appreciative…but it scared her too. Her thoughts were jumbled in her overactive mind, but all she knew was that the more time she spent with him, the more fearful she became of seeing his death.

-o-

She was lying awake in the dark when he finally returned home. She watched his dark shape move quietly through the room before he removed his jacket, his jeans, and his t-shirt and carefully climbed into bed next to her. She kept her eyes closed, but she could sense him watching her. The scent coming from his skin was filling her head and, despite her strange state of mind, she could feel her nerves come alive. She wanted him to kiss her – everything inside her screamed at him to do it. Her daily life was so strenuous, so ordered, and she had grown used to it: it had been such a long time since she had completely lost herself, for only by becoming one with him was she able to achieve it. But she wanted to now, she wanted to desperately. Every sense was heightened in the darkness, and she felt her skin tighten with goose bumps as he moved closer to her in the bed. Her eyes fluttered behind her closed lids as she waited in anticipation for the touch she was certain was coming. But the kiss she was expecting did not fall on her lips, nor was it searing or reckless. It fell upon her forehead, and it was light and cool and quick.

Morty sighed as he moved back onto his own side, and Rose lay in silence, her heart racing, confused as to what had just happened.

-o-

"My _God_ , Rose," Morty groaned, covering his face with his hands as she awoke with a shriek, followed by sharp gasping breaths. Nevertheless he sat up in bed and took her hands from her face.

"What is this nightmare you keep having?" he croaked, "Hmm?"

"It's nothing," she whispered, trembling. She moved into him, finding her way onto his lap and clinging around his neck with her arms.

"It's obviously not 'nothing'," he said with a shuddering yawn. He hated to think what these sleepless nights were doing to her – his own sleep was badly enough affected.

"It's just…a stupid dream," she lied, "I-I keep realising I'm naked in front of loads of people…"

He was quiet for a moment, but she could feel the laugh rumbling in his chest, and she smiled in spite of herself.

"Well let me tell you," he murmured into her ear as he pulled her back down with him, "your naked body is _certainly_ not the stuff of nightmares…" he pulled the duvet back over them and held her closely against him. She inhaled sharply as he began to kiss her neck but, to her disappointment, he soon stopped.

"Night Rose," he mumbled, burying his nose into her hair.

She felt like screaming out loud. He was right there, all of his warm, toned body pressed up against hers. She wondered what on earth she had been thinking this past month, why in hell she hadn't wanted to have him as often as she could. She smiled to herself as she felt her body flood with warmth for love of him. He was here, he was _alive_ \- it was fine.

-o-

Morty woke at half five, and carefully got out of bed so as not to wake her. Even when she wasn't required to get up for work he knew she liked to wake up at six to begin her studying. He felt slightly guilty, for he didn't want her to feel as though she were falling behind, but his guilt quickly dissipated when his eyes found the persistent dark circles under hers. He walked quietly over to her side of the bed and disabled her alarm – there was no need for her to get up so early. He got dressed quietly, and gave her a lingering look, before he made his way to Tarragon Gym.

-o-

Rose frowned slightly as she opened her eyes. The June sunlight was streaming in through the high, loft windows, and she could hear the traffic roaring along on the road outside. She glanced at her alarm clock and started when she realised it was almost nine o'clock. She felt slightly groggy, and her head felt strangely heavy: she wasn't used to so many hours sleep. She put on her dressing gown and made her way out of the bedroom to the kitchen where she proceeded to boil the kettle. Whilst she waited, she leant against the kitchen counter, staring at nothing in particular. Morty, she supposed, was at the Gym, and she felt a flat ache in her chest. She found herself wishing that he was here with her, but then she began to grow frightened. Her palms began to sweat and her head rolled in a fit of dizziness.

 _What the hell is wrong with you?_

There was a knock at the door and, without thinking, she sprinted for it. She craved his presence as much as she dreaded it, so it would seem.

"Eusine?!"

"Good morning to you, Rosemary," he said, bowing with a flourish.

"My name isn't Rosemary," she said, her eyes still wide with surprise. She wasn't aware he was in Sesame.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" he grinned, "or are you hiding Mortimer naked somewhere in this love dungeon of yours?" he asked, noting her dressing gown.

Rose rolled her eyes and stood aside to let him in. He could be very pompous and inappropriate, but she liked him very much.

"Morty's at the Gym," she said, pouring a tea for herself and a coffee for him.

"Ah," Eusine said, accepting the drink, "and…you have the day off?"

He was acutely aware of her pale face and twitchy attitude, but he didn't feel that asking her if she was off sick was a particularly tactful thing to do.

"No, I'm doing a nightshift tonight."

Eusine nodded slowly, but the longer he looked at her the more he noticed. Not only was she pale, she was almost waxy, and her dark eyes seemed hollow in her face, not helped by the enormous dark circles under them. Her hair was also a mess and, although he assumed it was because she had not long since gotten out of bed, it did not help her overall appearance.

"So how's Ecruteak?" she asked, gesturing that he sit on the sofa.

"Oh it's great," Eusine grinned, "I never thought I'd enjoy being a Gym Leader, but I do."

"Psychic type, right?"

"That's right! Of course it would probably be more enjoyable if I wasn't in _Morty's_ Gym…you know him - I'm terrified I'm going to break something or 'tarnish' something else," he said ruefully. Morty was very protective of his Gym.

Rose smiled tightly and took a sip of her drink.

"So when's he back?" Eusine asked, "Not that I don't enjoy your company," he laughed.

"I'm not sure," she said truthfully, blushing. What had gotten into her? Why couldn't she even remember when he worked?!

"Oh okay," he said quietly. He hadn't seen her since January, since he was their best man, and he couldn't help but goggle at the change in her. She must be ill…or overworked maybe… "How's Medicine going?"

He watched her closely as she replied, and noticed the lighting up of her eyes and her enthusiastic hand gestures. She seemed to come alive when she talked about work and this was nice to see, but he couldn't help but wonder what effect it was having on her life, on _their_ life.

-o-

"Morty!" Eusine exclaimed happily when his friend returned home.

"Eusine?" he said, a smile unfurling on his face, "what're you doing here?! When did you arrive?!" he asked, embracing his best friend.

"I came this morning," he said lightly.

"Did Rose let you in?" Morty asked, shrugging out of his jacket and kicking his boots off.

"Yes," Eusine said hesitantly, but Morty didn't seem to notice his tone.

"Fancy a coffee?"

"Please."

They spent a pleasant evening together, and Morty cooked – something he hadn't bothered to do properly in a while since he was the only one that really ate it.

"So…how's married life?" Eusine asked casually.

He saw Morty's frown as he continued to stir the rice.

"Yeah it's, um…busy I guess?"

Eusine raised his eyebrows.

"Did you want to talk about anything?" he asked quietly. Morty looked over at him and sighed when he caught the knowing look in his eyes. He placed the dish of curry in front of his friend before he spoke.

"I don't know how…how _happy_ Rose is…"

"What do you mean?"

Morty ran his hands through his hair and Eusine could see the reservation in his eyes.

"Talking about it will only help," Eusine said softly.

"We've barely spoken in over a month," he admitted, trying to keep his face passive.

Eusine couldn't hide his surprise.

"Is that because of your combined hours?"

"Well…sort of…but she deliberately works more hours than she needs to…"

"She seems to enjoy work a lot," Eusine said nervously. Morty snorted.

"I had to force Dr Wood to make her take time off – she hardly eats anything and every fucking night she has these nightmares, and –"

"Nightmares?" Eusine repeated. He noted with alarm how strained his friend looked, and his heart ached for him.

"Yeah…I dunno, I thought she might be anxious about working and studying, but according to Dr Wood she's the best thing since sliced bread…I sound resentful, but I'm not…I'm so pleased she's doing well but…"

"You're not doing very well – together?"

"No," Morty said shakily. Eusine abandoned his dinner and caught Morty in a tight embrace.

"It's fine buddy, it'll just be a glitch, that's all." He could see the tears forming in his friend's eyes and didn't know what on earth to say or do.

"But will it?! She's only seventeen – maybe this was all a bit 'too much too soon'…"

"Well, you're only twenty-one! I don't think it's _age_ , you love each other, it shouldn't matter!"

"I feel like the only time she ever needs me, or wants me for that matter, is when she has a nightmare. She holds onto me like I'm a lifeline or something, and then when morning comes she doesn't want to know," he said dejectedly.

"What are her nightmares about?" Eusine asked.

"She's never really elaborated; she mentioned they were about finding herself naked in public places…"

Eusine frowned, that didn't seem like the sort of night terror that could profoundly affect your daily life.

"And you think that was the truth?"

Morty opened his mouth to speak before snapping it shut again. He had never considered that she hadn't been truthful.

-o-

The Corsola was in distress; one of the branch-like growths on its back was badly broken.

"I'm going to need an x-ray pronto," she told her nurse as she prepared the morphine injection, "I think we're going to require internal fixation – this break is far too nasty for closed reduction."

The nurse nodded and hurried away, and Rose watched as the little Pokémon's tightly screwed eyes relaxed not too long after the painkiller was administered.

"There we go," she said softly, holding cotton wool firmly to the injection site, "you'll feel better in a minute."

When she was certain the Pokémon was comfortable, she began to put on her surgical scrubs and mask: if she acted quickly Corsola's branch-like growth could be saved.

"Rose, I'll take over from here," she heard Dr Wood say, "I think you should get home now."

Rose glanced at the clock – it was only two in the morning. She knew that if she performed this procedure herself it could take her well past half past five, her designated finish, but she didn't care.

"But I'm not finished until half-five!"

"Go home Rose, get some sleep, you deserve it," he said, barely acknowledging her as he followed the Corsola down to the operating theatre.

Rose moodily threw her scrubs onto the table and left the room. She felt irrationally furious as she stormed through the hospital. She liked working night shifts, for when she did it meant that she didn't have to sleep, and if she didn't sleep she didn't dream…she desperately tried to erase the image of Morty's dying face that had now forced its way into her head, but she couldn't. She sat alone in the hospital corridor, attempting to calm her breathing; she could not go home, not now. Having to face what she had so nearly lost was becoming more difficult every day, although she knew that her reasoning made no sense whatsoever. She tried to think of the Corsola instead, and tried to imagine what she would be doing in surgery right now to keep her mind off things. But all she could seem to think of, however, was the look of relief on the Pokémon's face when the morphine kicked in…

Twenty minutes later, Rose found herself in the empty pharmaceutical lab. She felt oddly nervous, although as a trainee doctor she had every right to be in there. She selected a bottle of liquid morphine sulphate from the security locked cupboard, and mindlessly began to prepare the syringe. She realised she was taking extreme measures, but she couldn't bring herself to care - she needed to calm down. She remembered the warm feeling Morty had aroused in her the previous night, but it had disappeared completely now, and nothing she did could recall it. All she wanted was to feel good again. Rose strapped her arm tightly with a length of cable attached to a microscope, and lightly slapped her arm until a vein appeared. Quickly and efficiently she injected the drug, before she began to methodically pack away.

 _Give it a minute, just give it a minute._

She still didn't feel any better as she made her way home. It was nearing quarter to three in the morning, and the streets were deserted. The overhead street lights seemed to leech the colour out of everything…but she liked it. She liked everything. Everything had attained a mystic beauty somehow and she felt good. Not brilliant necessarily, just…pleasantly content.

 _This is all right_ , she found herself thinking happily, _This is really, really nice._

She let herself into the flat quietly, and noticed that Eusine must be sleeping in the tiny, spare room, for his lilac jacket was still slung over the armchair. But this was good. This was nice. Eusine was Morty's best, best friend – so she wanted him around. Dumping her rucksack on the sofa she crept through the living room and into their bedroom. Rose smiled as she looked down at Morty. He was so very handsome. He slept flat on his back, and his soft, blond hair was spread messily against the pillow. She could see the top of his lightly tanned torso above the covers and she marvelled that he was hers, that he was her _husband_. She bit her lip to stifle her giggles before she climbed on top of him. He began to stir as he felt her weight upon him, and she kissed him softly on the lips.

"Rose?" he mumbled.

"Well I'm not Eusine," she said wryly, causing him to snort with laughter.

She kissed him again, and felt her blood turn to fire as his hands made their way slowly down her body. He fingered the hem of her blue scrub top before he lifted it over her head. Claiming his lips again, she kissed him hungrily, gasping as his bare chest grazed hers. She felt so unbelievably happy for once just to be with him, to be wanted by him. They continued to kiss wildly, neither fully drawing breath. It had been so long since they had done this, and Morty felt as though he had been possessed by a more carnal part of himself. He ripped off her scrub trousers before covering her body with his. He had missed her horribly.

"I love you," she whispered, smiling as she traced his cheekbones with her fingertips. Morty could only nod: tears of relief and love filled his eyes as he held her closely to him, and he did not allow her to think of anything but him for the rest of the night.

-o-

He couldn't die. Not now that she had found him again, found _herself_ again. But she could feel it, it was inevitable, and the light faded from his eyes as his last breath escaped from his lungs.

Eusine awoke with a start, as a piercing scream and anguished sobs filled his ears. His heart hammering against his ribs, he sprinted in a daze from his room and over to Morty's. He stood stock still in the doorway, his brain trying to process where the danger was coming from. The noise was coming from Rose, who continued to thrash and scream, despite Morty's efforts to hold her still.

"Rose, _Rose_ , it's fine!" he shouted desperately, "you're okay – it's just a dream - _Rose_!"

Eusine ran into the room to assist him, not even realising in his panic that neither of them were clothed. Rose continued to cry and scream, and nothing either of them said or did could calm her down. Morty crushed her to his chest, his hands restlessly stroking her hair and back, as he stared at Eusine with desperation in his eyes.

"Can you please grab some water - anything – please?!" he shouted. But she had finally started to calm down: taking deep, shuddering breaths against his chest she began to cry weakly.

"Rose?" Morty whispered as he stroked her face, "it's okay, everything's all right. You're here at home with me…"

She nodded and continued to sniffle, holding him tighter around the waist.

Eusine gave Morty an embarrassed nod as he left their room. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Morty didn't have to worry about Rose being unhappy with him.

-o-

"Did you say that happens nearly every night?" Eusine asked quietly the following morning as he stirred his coffee.

"It's never been that bad before," Morty replied just as quietly: Rose was still asleep and they didn't want to wake her.

"I somehow don't think she was dreaming about finding herself nude…" Eusine mumbled.

Morty sighed heavily. He had to agree with his friend – these were no standard nightmares.

"What can I do? I don't want to ask her about it – it's bad enough that she has to go through it at night…"

"You have to go through it too," his friend said softly.

"It's hardly the same, I just hate that I can't _do_ anything," he frowned, "What?!" he asked as Eusine smirked into his mug.

"Horrible as her nightmares are, I'm just pleased you two sorted out your…'differences' beforehand."

Morty blushed when he realised what his friend must have seen and heard, but he smiled happily nonetheless.

-o-

Rose could understand their intentions, but she knew that they could never understand hers. She didn't _need_ time off from working – she needed more of it, and so at half past five that evening she made her way to Tarragon Pokémon Hospital, determined to immerse herself in medicine.

Two hours later and she couldn't stop her hands from shaking as she tried to insert the IV into the Flaaffy's arm. Snarling in frustration she let the nurse take over and she stormed from the room.

"Rose?" Dr Wood said as he spotted her, "what're you up to? How about you go –"

"I'm not going home," she said flatly.

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

"I was about to ask you to go and grab your stethoscope…I thought you might like to study the irregular heartrate of a ghost type Pokémon?"

Rose burned a fiery red.

"Sorry Dr Wood – I-I'd love to, just let me – I'll be back in a minute."

-o-

Must everything remind her of him? A Gengar – of all ghost Pokémon?!

 _There aren't that many ghost Pokémon._

Rose rolled her eyes at her subconscious. She was technically finished – it was nearing half past five in the morning and she knew Dr Wood wouldn't let her start anything new; he had become obsessed with not letting her work more than she was supposed to. But she couldn't face going home. She wanted to see him so badly, but she was terrified to do so. For one night she had allowed herself to be happy with him, and she had certainly paid the price. Miserable, cold, but slightly clammy, Rose found herself walking to the pharmaceutical lab and typing in the security code. As usual at this time of morning, the lab was empty and in darkness. Rose walked over to where she knew it was stored and removed a little bottle, before setting up her syringe. She was aware of its highly addictive properties, but she wouldn't get addicted. She just needed it to help her get through these nightmares, to help her be able to spend time with her husband without having a panic attack. This medicine did just that. It made her feel good, and it relaxed her. As soon as she didn't need it anymore she wouldn't take it. It was simple.

She wiped her elbow crook with alcohol when she had finished, and was sure to clean the worktop area thoroughly: studying medicine certainly made you very good at disinfecting. She made to return the bottle to the high security cabinet, but hesitated. She had taken one shot: last time that got her home happy, but it obviously wore off in the night – hence her nightmare. Rose slipped the bottle and the syringe into her scrub trouser pocket, and left the building quickly.

She felt the opiate kick in about halfway through her walk home, and she smiled. This stuff was good for her – now all the fear was gone and she just wanted to see him. She increased her pace and was home in under five minutes, fumbling her key at the lock in her desperation to get inside. Eusine was staying another night, so it would seem. She smiled lazily – she liked Eusine. Glancing at the clock she saw it was almost quarter to six and she hesitated. Morty wasn't working today – would he really want to be woken up this early? She moved slowly into their bedroom and smiled at his sleeping figure. He made her feel so light inside…but that one memory of him filled her nights with darkness. She swallowed as she recalled the events that took place inside that damnable mountain; the panic began to clutch at her throat as she realised that the medicine was wearing off. She couldn't go to sleep without it. She couldn't watch him die again. Creeping into the bathroom she removed her scrub top. The bathroom light was horribly bright and she squinted at herself in the cabinet mirror. Her forehead was perspiring slightly, her dark curls sticking to it, and her pupils had contracted completely – it must have been the light. She grabbed at the tooth floss and accidently knocked the soap dish into the sink. Cringing slightly she waited in silence – but she hadn't woken anyone. Rose deftly wrapped the tooth floss around her upper arm and held it tightly in place with her teeth as she prepared her syringe. She had injected herself perfectly before leaving the hospital, but still, she knew not to worry the vein further. She began to tap at her arm, the syringe held in her teeth, trying to bring up a new vein – she knew enough about anatomy not to hit an artery. Finally she inserted the needle, the mere act relaxing her before the medicine itself had a chance to kick in. She placed the now empty bottle and syringe in her rucksack and crawled contentedly into bed. She looked over at Morty's face and smiled at the gentle curve of his lips. She wanted to reach over and kiss him, but she could feel herself becoming very drowsy, and she couldn't seem to move her limbs very easily. She shrugged slightly as she slipped into oblivion – at least she wasn't scared.

-o-

Morty blinked in surprise when he woke up peacefully for what felt like the first time in a long time. He glanced to his right to see Rose sleeping soundly, and he moved very quietly from the bed and into the kitchen.

"No nightmare?" Eusine grinned: he was already up and dressed.

Morty shook his head and smiled as he boiled the kettle.

"Well I'm glad," Eusine said, as he zipped up his suitcase.

"You're leaving?"

"Mortimer, Mortimer – did you think I would dare leave your beloved Gym for too long?"

"My name's not Mortimer," he laughed, "but I see your point – scram," he said, winking at his friend before pulling him into a bear hug.

-o-

"Rose, I made you breakfast?"

She cracked her eyes open to see Morty smiling at her and holding a tray of dippy egg and toast. She sat up slowly, feeling lightheaded, but when she saw the tray of food her stomach heaved. Leaping from the bed she ran to the bathroom and began to vomit.

"What's the matter?" Morty asked in concern when he got there, pulling her hair back, "you're all hot and sweaty…"

Rose shook her head and gasped weakly. She felt dreadful. Morty sat on the bathroom floor and pulled her into his lap.

"How do you feel?"

"Gross," she sighed, leaning back against him. They stayed like this for a while and he stroked her hair soothingly.

"Do you want anything?" he asked after a while, kissing her shoulder.

"No," she mumbled, trying to get more comfortable against him.

"Let's at least get you into bed," Morty said, as he practically carried her back to their room.

"Don't you want anything at all?" he asked quietly when she was settled. Rose shook her head but held onto his hand. He smiled softly at her, and spent his day off lying next to her on the bed.

-o-

Rose woke up sobbing that night. Not only did she experience her horrific nightmare, but she felt dizzy and nauseous on top of it.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked softly as he wiped away her tears with the back of his hand. This was getting ridiculous, he had never known anyone to experience nightmares like this.

"I-I don't k-know," she lied, sobbing weakly against him. Every night she relived her nightmare with perfect clarity, and it was only getting worse.

"You're all clammy," Morty frowned as he felt her neck and chest, "come on, let's get you in the bath."

"B-but it's f-four in the morning…"

"Well you're not going to work tomorrow, and neither am I."

"B-but I _have_ to –"

"I don't think you should be around sick Pokémon when you're this ill," he said seriously.

Rose kept her mouth shut. She didn't think now was the time to tell him that she was experiencing common side effects of a medical opiate.

He sat with her whilst she was in the bath, a small frown on his face.

"I think you should maybe see a doctor," he said quietly.

Her brown eyes snapped open as she turned to face him.

"Why?"

"It's not normal to have nightmares every night, Rose."

She shrugged.

"It's fine – I don't need a doctor, they'll only give me sleeping pills anyway."

"What're they about?" he asked after a minute of silence.

She glanced at him before looking away quickly.

"Nothing in particular," she mumbled.

Morty sighed as he rubbed his hands over his face.

"Perhaps if you can tell me what they're about we can try and fix the problem? Lots of dreams are reflective of what's going on in your life."

Rose chewed her bottom lip. Her problem was that her terror was in the past, and there was no erasing it.

"They're not really about anything," she insisted, not meeting his eye.

"Okay," Morty sighed in defeat, handing her a towel.

-o-

She deliberately did not sleep for the rest of the night, and she was fully awake when the sky turned a pinkish bronze through the high windows of their flat. She carefully eased herself out of bed so as not to wake him and, after she had brushed her teeth and dressed, she let herself out of the front door silently, and made her way to the hospital. She knew there was no way she could spend the whole day with him; she would forget herself, and with nothing to help her through the night, she was all too sure of what would happen. But she would be okay. All she needed was to get over this little rough patch and all would be well. She would sleep without nightmares and she would be able to spend time with her husband without waiting for the inevitable panic attack to hit. And she would be able to do it without using anything to aid her.

"Rose, we have a Snorlax coming in with a ruptured spleen," Dr Wood told her hastily as he prepped his surgical instruments, "would you mind running down to the lab? We need morphine – lots of it."

She nodded and made her way down to the ground floor where the lab was situated. It was strange to see it buzzing with activity: she liked it a lot better when she had it to herself.

"Hey, hey!" a pharmacist yelled as she approached the opiate cabinet, "what do you think you're doing?!"

"I'm getting morphine for Dr Wood," Rose frowned, "we've got a Snorlax coming in and we need extra."

"Oh, okay. Apologies – we think some morphine's gone missing so we're having to take safer measures right now."

"M-missing?" Rose repeated as he handed her the bottles.

"Yes – obviously the amount we have is strictly monitored due to its highly addictive properties. We've had to change the security code and everything," he sighed.

Rose felt a rising panic in her chest, although she didn't quite know why.

"What is it now?"

"Sorry," he said with a rueful grin, "we're not to tell anyone – even clinical staff are no longer allowed free access to the opiates."

Rose nodded slowly, and thanked him before leaving.

Her breath came in sharp gasps as she made her way back to the third floor, her hands filled with tiny bottles of the medicine. She wouldn't be able to get any more, or someone would realise it was she who had taken it in the first place. Not that she _needed_ it – she wasn't addicted, it just wasn't particularly nice to think she couldn't get it should she require it…glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, Rose slipped two of the tiny bottles into her pocket. They should do her for a few days, and her nightmares would probably go soon after. Perfect timing.

-o-

"Come with me, Rose," Dr Wood said kindly.

He had finally found her on the stairway to the roof, and she looked a more than a little worse for wear. When they arrived in his office he made her a strong sweet tea and gave her a seat opposite him.

"I know it's unpleasant, but unfortunately this is part of the job," he said quietly as he surveyed her over his joined hands. She had certainly changed a lot from the girl he first met at Tarragon Laboratory. Her skin was sallow, and her cheeks were hollower. Her brown eyes, once so bright, now appeared to be slightly sunken in her gaunt face, "would you like to talk about it? It's natural to feel guilty."

Rose looked up at the young, handsome doctor and tried to swallow. How could she tell him that she felt no guilt, or even sadness, over the Snorlax's passing? And how on earth could she tell him that she was hiding from everything because watching that death had reminded her of the death of her now husband…who was now alive. Hardly anyone was aware of what had happened at Dill Rook in November, and she didn't think any explanations would go down too well either.

"How are you in yourself?" he continued, as he surveyed her intently.

"I'm fine," she said automatically, with an equally automatic smile.

"Well I think you should go home for now," Horatio said sternly.

He noticed that she closed her eyes in apparent horror.

"You don't want to go home?"

"N- I mean, yes. Of course I do. But I want to work too."

"Your first death at the hospital is bound to affect you," he said, "I think I'd rather you went home. Tell Morty about it – talking always helps, I can promise you."

Rose did go home, but she made a trip to the bathroom first. She had nothing of length on her, and so she yanked her hair out of its plait and pulled the band over her upper arm. Tutting impatiently she continued to slap her arm lightly, syringe between her teeth, until a vein began to protrude plumply under her skin. She knew the medicine wouldn't kick in just yet but, once again, the mere act of preparing it had calmed her somewhat.

Morty. She so desperately wanted to see him, and she so desperately didn't. Breaking into a run, her rucksack bumping loudly against her back, she arrived home, slightly out of breath. But he wasn't there. She sighed huffily at the anti-climax; of course, he was working at the Gym - _and_ he was probably furious with her anyway for going to work in the first place. Rose slumped onto the sofa miserably, and tried to banish the vivid images of his death from her mind. But the morphine didn't seem to be working, and she began to feel anxious. It was as though her mind was deliberately tormenting her: parts of the flashback were repeated over and over again, until she felt that she would scream from anguish and frustration. The flat was horribly quiet without him there, and she just couldn't distract herself from her nightmare, all the more nightmarish for the fact it had actually happened, and could happen again. She began to hyperventilate; she needed him here. She needed to be sure he was alive, even though she knew deep down that he was. Feeling herself break out in an uncomfortable sweat, she stripped off her scrubs and curled up on the sofa, crying weakly into her hands. She didn't care if it gave her nightmares – she wanted him here with her, so he could hold her close and wipe the tears from her cheeks. She began to cry harder as her nausea returned, and she crawled to the bathroom in her underwear, retching up nothing. But as she lay on the bathroom floor, the medicine finally seemed to hit. Staring up at the ceiling with a tranquil smile on her face, she giggled as she heard a key in the lock.

"Rose?"

"In here!" she sang, her voice slightly slurred.

"What're you – what the hell?!" he gasped upon seeing her, "what're you doing? Are you hurt?!"

"I'm _fiiine_ ," she said rolling her eyes and standing up.

"Why were you on the floor? Where are your clothes? Have you been sick again?" he asked quickly, taking her face into his hands and staring into her eyes.

"Did you know there's a crack on the ceiling?" she said, ignoring his questions as she glanced up at it.

"Damn it Rose!" he shouted in frustration, "are you depressed or something?! Is _that_ what this is?!"

She gazed into his violet eyes and was shocked at what she saw there. He looked terrified, and sad, and _angry_. But she couldn't understand why. Everything was okay, everything was happy. He must have had a bad day. Rose took a step towards him and crashed her lips on his. Initially he was shocked, but then he responded, his hands roaming over her back and through her loose hair as he kissed her back desperately. He pressed her up against the bathroom wall and she shivered as her hot skin came into contact with the cold tiles.

"Did you go to work?" he asked her roughly between kisses.

" _Yes_ , because I wasn't ill," she whispered, her eyes closing and her hazy brain becoming even more so as he kissed her neck softly. He stopped abruptly and stared at her in disbelief, before hiding his face in his hands.

"Morty?" she asked, trying to prise his hands away, "what's wrong?"

"I don't know," he muttered heavily, the sound muffled, "I'm just so confused, and I'm scared Rose," he said.

"There's nothing to be scared of," she crooned happily, running her fingers through his hair.

Morty shook his head and left the bathroom. He didn't know what was wrong with her, but he couldn't deal with it right now.

-o-

Morty had gone out, and she didn't know where. Rose sat on the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest, her mind in turmoil. The morphine had long worn off now, and all she felt was anxious and despairing. She had made him angry, but she hadn't meant to; she also knew that she was upsetting him – he thought she was unwell, but she wasn't, she was just…'off'. Rose clenched her fists and deliberately would not look at her rucksack which was against the wall by the front door. She had a bottle and a half left of the medicine, but she knew she couldn't waste it. She needed it for the nightmares – other emotions she would have to deal with herself. Tasting blood in her mouth, she realised just how hard she had been chewing on her lower lip. She spat out the blood into the kitchen sink and shuddered as she watched it drain down the plughole. She was panicking, but about what she didn't know. She knew that the morphine would help, but she couldn't use it willy-nilly – she had a serious supply limit.

 _Just a tiny bit. Just a little, tiny bit so you're okay until he comes back again._

She leapt from the sofa and delved into her backpack, her hands shaking slightly, from excitement or desperation she couldn't quite be sure, as she began to prepare the syringe. But she only grew more distressed as the effects of the medicine did not come anywhere near fast enough – what was she going to do? If it couldn't help her sleep she didn't know _what_ she'd do. She couldn't keep watching him die, she'd go mad – _he'd_ go mad. Rose was quite certain Morty was reaching breaking point with her.

"No more," she muttered hastily as she hid the supplies in her bag again, "gotta save it…"

After a while the lazy happiness came upon her again. She curled up on the sofa with one of her medical textbooks, and decided to read up on her new favourite medicine. But she had only injected half of what she normally did, and it wasn't long before the desired effects wore off, leaving her disconsolate. Despite the discomfort in her mind, the absence of the morphine made it sharper. Her eyes roved over the textbook page as her lips moved soundlessly. It would be a risk, but she was pretty sure she was right. Unfortunately, for her plan to work, she needed to get into a lab, and that was going to be no mean feat.

-o-

"All right Morty?" Eusine asked as he answered the phone.

"Er…not bad," he lied, shaking his head in annoyance at himself, "you? Gym okay?"

"The Gym's fine," Eusine laughed as he continued to crunch on something, "you sure you're all right?"

"Y-yeah, I'm good. Just fancied a chat,"

"Oh. Well, no offence buddy – can we do this tomorrow? There's an awesome documentary on about Jynx – you should catch it too!"

"Okay, yeah. Sure. That's sounds great. Bye Eusine."

Morty scowled as he sat alone on the bench staring listlessly at the slow-moving river. He didn't know what he felt really. The previous month had been…lonely, but he had assumed, or rather hoped, that it had all changed the night she had come to him and – he blushed as he remembered. However, her nightmares had kept coming, but now it wasn't even _that_ that was worrying him; she seemed so different, so unlike herself, and he didn't know how to help her. She was the light in his life – she made everything brighter and warmer for him, but it seemed as though she herself were dimming, and he didn't know why. He wiped away his tears roughly with the back of his hand, before he stood up and made his way back home, hands thrust deeply into his pockets.

-o-

He found her asleep in the armchair, her neck at an uncomfortable angle. Morty hesitated, before he made his way over to her. Hoisting her into his arms, he carried her to their room, and on the way her eyes snapped open.

"Lemme go," she said blearily, and she began to thrash agitatedly in his arms.

"Calm down won't you?" he frowned as he put her down.

She snorted sarcastically.

" _Shut_ up, Morty," she muttered, slamming the bathroom door behind her. He felt the blood drain from his face, and he merely stared at the closed door before he registered what had happened.

"What did you say?" he finally asked incredulously through the wood that separated them.

She swung the door open aggressively and glared at him through narrowed eyes.

"I said _shut up_ – your voice is pissing me off," she spat.

He started at her disbelievingly. He couldn't even feel angry due to his complete shock. Rose rolled her eyes and stormed past him into the bedroom.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!" he finally shouted as he followed her.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with me," she snarled, "although you look like someone's stuck something up _your_ arse – so spit it out?!"

"This is fucking ridiculous," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning against the door frame.

She gave a derisive shriek of laughter. Morty could only stare at her: she was really quite unhinged.

"Oh it's always _my_ fault isn't it?!"

"When have I _ever_ said that?!" he roared, his eyes snapping with fury.

Rose only shrugged insolently and continued throwing the cushions off the bed, followed by the duvet and the pillows.

"Have you gone mad?!" he yelled, his eyes popping, "look at you! What are you _doing_?!"

"I'm far from mad," she seethed, going up to him and poking a finger in his chest, "and if I ever come close, it's your _fucking_ fault."

"Well that's rich," he said, with a laugh as contemptuous as hers had been.

"Is it?" she said very quietly, "well here's some news for you; my nightmares? Yeah? The one's that wake me up screaming? They're about _you_."

She slammed the bedroom door in his face.

-o-

He wasn't really asleep, and that wasn't because the sofa was uncomfortable. His anger had faded by now, and all he could feel was a strange numbness. He had never seen her lose her temper, never, and he couldn't make any sense of it. It was pathetic to dwell on it, he knew, but he couldn't help but wonder if he'd done something drastically wrong that he wasn't aware of, but he could think of nothing. His heart began to thump painfully. If it was something _he'd_ done at least he could try and make up for it, but if this was all her…but how could it be her? This wasn't her at all.

He heard their bedroom door creak open and he watched as she made her way slowly towards him in the darkness. He closed his eyes quickly as she crouched down next to him.

"Morty?" she whispered brokenly as she stroked his hair back from his face, "Morty wake up."

He sighed before he shifted further in and made a space for her. Rose could hardly believe it, and she lay gratefully beside him, drinking in his familiar scent and warmth.

"I'm s-so sorry," she sobbed against his chest, her tears soaking through his t-shirt. Furious though he had been, he couldn't prevent his heart aching as he heard her cry so solemnly, and he held her to him in that usual spot.

"What's wrong with you?" he whispered, as he raised her chin to look her in the eye. Her sore lip began to tremble as she noticed the tears in his eyes. She must have hurt him so badly.

"I don't know," she sighed shakily, before her body convulsed with sobs again.

"Shh," he hushed her comfortingly, rocking her slightly in his arms, "it's okay," he said as his tears fell into her hair, "it'll all be fine."

She nodded weakly against him, her ear pressed to his heart.

It felt like an awfully long time, but after a while his grip on her loosened as he fell into a fretful sleep. She didn't dare sleep herself; she knew she couldn't face the torment of her subconscious. She felt a desperate yearning inside of her, and what terrified her more than anything was that she didn't know which she wanted more – him or the morphine.

-o-

She dressed quickly into her scrubs, which were still on the floor from where she had pulled them off the previous day, and left the flat before Morty even stirred. She felt horrific, having lain awake the whole night, but at least she hadn't dreamt. She wasn't supposed to be working today, but she couldn't wait any longer – she needed to try out her theory. There were no intern classes on Tuesdays, she knew, which suited her – for it meant that the demonstration labs would be empty and, considering they were on the top floor of the hospital, she shouldn't be disturbed.

The muscles in her legs and back began to scream in protest as she ran up the twelve flights of stairs, and she couldn't seem to stop her nose from running. Her scrub top was sticking to her clammy back and there was a painful ache in her lower abdomen.

She couldn't fight with Morty like that ever again; he deserved so much more than that from her. Her shoulders convulsed slightly as chills began to run through her torso, but she ignored it and got to work, feverishly setting up her apparatus.

She was _almost_ certain, hence why she was only using her quarter bottle and not the full one, that by acetylating the morphine she could convert it into something faster acting, and hopefully stronger. She had to concentrate; she wanted to do it perfectly to make sure it worked because, if it did, her little bottle of morphine, probably amounting to two or three shots at most, could potentially go a _lot_ further.

Her hands shaking, and her body sweating profusely, she ignored her pains and went to work.

-o-

It took a long time, but she was quite certain she'd managed it. Rose did frown slightly as she surveyed the blackish-brown sticky residue she'd been left with. It didn't quite look like she had imagined, but again, she was certain she'd done it right. Her desperation to try it, to feel that sweeping euphoria, overtook any qualms she should have had about injecting an unknown substance into her body. Still sweating, still shaking, she added a few drops of distilled water to the morphine residue before warming it slightly over the Bunsen burner. Her breathing fast, she tied her arm tightly with some rubber tubing she found in a drawer, and began to slap at her arm incessantly. Morty deserved this: he didn't deserve her to be depressed and miserable, and this would help. She would go home and he would kiss her and everything would be right again. She prepared the syringe and got ready to inject, but her hand was clammy and shaking, and she found it much harder than usual to get the stupid thing into her vein. She noticed that the area looked a little bruised when she finally got it in, but ten seconds later it mattered not at all.

She reeled as the warmth ran through her, and a smile unfurled on her gaunt face. This was incredible, it was so much faster, so much more potent than the morphine itself had been. Rose laughed aloud in delight as she realised she had enough of the liquid left in the syringe for another couple of doses – and at home she had a whole bottle, so that was about…twelve hits! She grinned as she cleared away, making sure to leave the place spotless, but she did it as fast as she could. She did not want to waste this feeling on _cleaning_.

The sky outside was dark, to her surprise, and she ambled happily home, feeling as though she wasn't quite in touch with anything, but she felt fuzzy and relaxed. She saw a figure approach her from Tarragon Gym to her left and her smile widened. Here he was. Her love.

"Rose! It _is_ you!" he laughed.

She frowned. He wasn't Morty, but she was still really, really excited to see him.

"Tripp!" she squealed, launching herself into his arms, much to his surprise, "what're you doing here?!"

"Just visiting," he grinned, "I'm going travelling soon with Candice, so I thought I'd come and catch up with you first!"

"Well let's get a drink!"

"Are you sure? You're still in your work stuff?" he said, noticing her scrubs.

"Who cares, who cares?!" she said as she dragged him further into town by the hand.

Tripp started as he caught sight of her properly under a street light. Her hair was in a tangled mess of a plait that looked as though she'd slept in it, and she looked horribly thin and tired, her dark eyes glittering unnaturally in her pale face.

"You had a long shift or something?" he asked.

"No, no, day off today," she beamed as she ordered them both a drink at the nearest bar.

He couldn't help but stare at her as they sat opposite one another at a little rickety table. He had honestly never seen her looking so dreadful. In the brighter light of the bar he could see a painful looking, half-healed cut on her lower lip.

"How's married life treating you?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but he now couldn't look away from her legs which she didn't seem able to keep still.

"Oh, y'know," she laughed shrilly.

"Not really," he muttered as he continued to watch her. She was acting like he'd never seen her act. At times throughout their drink she seemed erratic and hyper, and at other times she seemed to stare blankly into space. Even though he knew she never would, he would have assumed she was drugged, but her pupils were far from dilated.

"And how's Morty?"

She shrugged.

"He's been angry but it's going to be okay now," she said baldly, smiling serenely.

Tripp swallowed. She was seriously scaring him; he could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

"H-how about you show me where you're living? I'd like to say hello to Morty."

"Okaaay," she said, rolling her eyes at him, but laughing nonetheless as she got up unsteadily from the table.

She linked his arm as they walked the dark streets together.

"See that building over there?" she said with a grin.

"The rectangular, red-brick one?" he asked.

"That's where I live," she whispered giggling, "on the top floor!"

"Well let's go!" he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. He really did want to talk to Morty. He didn't know how to deal with her alone.

"Not now!" she whined, "I want to…to show you something!"

"What?" Tripp asked in confusion, feeling distinctly unnerved by her, "Rose?" he asked, as he saw her eyelids droop.

"Down here," she mumbled, leading him down the nearest alleyway.

"Rose – what –?"

"Shh," she said sharply, before she pushed him up against the wall. She could feel the euphoria draining from her, and she felt shaky and sick and cold. She wanted Morty.

"Rose, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Tripp asked bluntly as he watched the tears pour down her white face. This wasn't how he pictured their meeting at all.

She sniffed.

"I don't want to go home," she croaked, her eyes wide.

"What? Why not?!" he asked, grabbing her by the shoulders. It was as though she had gone mad.

"I'm…scared," she said, frowning to herself.

"Of what? _Morty_?!"

Rose chewed on her half-healed lip before she shook her head. Despite his unease Tripp felt the small bubble of hope in his chest deflate.

"Of…of _being_ scared," she said, her frown intensifying with her realisation.

"Okay Rose, you're really starting to freak me out," he said, "let's take you home and -"

"No," she stammered, backing away from him, "I don't want to go there."

Her eyes were scarily wide as she stared at him, and there was a reckless desperation upon her face.

"Stop s _aying_ that, let's – what the hell are you _doing_?!" he gaped, holding her back. He was quite certain that she had just tried to kiss him. And she didn't stop trying.

"I thought this might be what you wanted –" she said, struggling against his hands. It was what he wanted, very much so, but not like this.

"You're _married_ ," he snarled, "have you forgotten?! Is Morty home? I think I need to talk -"

"No!" she screamed hoarsely, "you can't tell…tell him anything. I'm fine, really, I'm _good_ ," she insisted as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks. He was just so different from Morty, and as much as she loved him, she could not bear being with him, or even near him. Tripp was different, completely different, and she found herself being drawn to that.

"What's happened to you?" he whispered, his voice shaking.

"Nothing," she said, taking a deep breath and composing herself in a worryingly short amount of time, "do you trust me?"

"Well –"

"Please trust me," she said earnestly, "just - just wait here, just wait here for _ten_ minutes. I-I need to get something, and then I'll be right back and…and when I've got it, I'll be able to tell you everything…okay?"

Tripp stared into her wild eyes, but could not make up his mind.

"Promise?" he asked in an unconvincing tone.

"I promise," she breathed in relief. She gave him a small smile, before she ran from the alleyway.

-o-

 _You stupid fucking idiot_ , Tripp seethed. Twenty minutes had nearly passed, and she still hadn't returned. She had played him.

He stormed from the alleyway and made his way towards the building she had pointed out. There was no way of knowing if she had been telling the truth unless he tried his luck. Taking a deep breath he knocked on the front door of the top apartment. To his relief, Morty opened it.

" _Tripp_?!"

"Is Rose here?"

"N-no, I haven't heard from her today, I assume she's at the hospital," he said quietly.

"What the _hell_ is going on, Morty?"

"What do you mean?"

Tripp explained everything that had just happened, and Morty sank to the sofa, his face in his hands.

"She tried to kiss you?" he asked quietly.

"Well I think so! What the fuck is _wrong_ with her?! She was acting like a complete lunatic!"

It was now Morty's turn to explain, and when he finished, Tripp could only stare at him open-mouthed.

"You need to get her to a doctor – I've never seen her like that in my life."

Tripp felt distinctly awkward as he noticed that Morty's eyes were red and that tears were dripping steadily from his chin.

"I need to find her," he croaked, standing up.

"Hey – you can't just go charging around the city at night!"

"I have my ways," he sniffed. He'd assumed that she was working, but by the sounds of it she was out alone in the dark, and she was more than vulnerable, "where are you staying?"

"Hotel in town," Tripp replied warily.

Morty hastily put on his leather jacket. It was only eight o'clock, but it was a chilly evening, and it was already dark from the overcast sky.

"I'll call you when I find her," Morty said stiffly as they made their way down the stairs together. Tripp nodded, feeling dully sick at everything he had witnessed this evening. Something had gone horribly wrong between Rose and Morty – that much he could see.

-o-

To his surprise, Gengar took him to the very centre of the city and there, sat by the spouting Seaking fountain, was Rose. Returning Gengar to its Pokéball, Morty sprinted over to her and gathered her in his arms.

"Oh thank fuck," he said shakily as he kissed her head over and over. She was staring blankly into the water. Her feet were fully submerged, and her scrub trousers were nearly soaked through to the top. She was shivering violently, but she did not seem to register his presence.

"Come on Rose, come on my love, I'm taking you home," he whispered. She did not answer, but he did not care. He released Gengar once again and, holding onto Rose as tightly as he dared, they teleported back to their flat.

She still didn't speak as he physically stripped her of her wet scrubs. He hastily pulled off his own t-shirt, warm from his body, and forced it over her head. She was freezing, and he needed to warm her through as quickly as possible, but he knew better than to submerge her in hot water. He ran to the kitchen to microwave some milk, his tears blurring his vision. She seemed so very distant, so very lost, and he had no idea how to get through to her. He brought the milk to their bedroom, and noticed that she hadn't moved at all. He grabbed a towel and began to rub frantically at her cold, numb legs, but still she said nothing.

"Talk to me Rose," he whispered desperately.

She blinked drowsily and gave a small sigh, but she did not speak. He lay down next to her on the bed and crushed her tightly to him. She wasn't as cold as he expected, but she was still shivering. After a few minutes, to his giddying relief, he felt her arms tighten around him, and she began to cry silently against him. Morty glanced upwards in exhausted relief, and his pooled tears fell from his eyes.

"What happened tonight?" he whispered into her ear, "I-I'm not angry, I just need to know. I'm going to help you."

She shook her head weakly but could not staunch her tears.

"Tripp came to see me," Morty said shakily, pulling her tangled hair from her face, "and he said…he said you tried to…to kiss him…?"

She cried harder, and he winced as she gripped at the bare skin of his chest. He couldn't be mad at her, not when she was so, so broken. She was his light, and she still made his world warm. He would do anything to pull her from her personal darkness – whatever it was.

"Every night," she suddenly gasped between sobs, "every night I relive it, and I can't _stand_ it anymore…"

"What?" he muttered desperately, pressing his lips to her clammy forehead.

"Y-you dying," she choked, and he felt his heart break as he held her tighter, "and when…when I spend time with you, the nightmare, i-it gets worse a-and, and I, and I –" she couldn't seem to get her words out.

"Shh, Rose shh," he whispered as he rocked her. It was killing him to see her like this, but he knew she needed to get it out.

"I c-can't b-bear that it could happen again, and I know I s-shouldn't think about it, but I've t-tried not to and I _can't_ ," she cried desperately, "y-you're everything to me, Morty, and I don't know w-what I'd do if –"

He silenced her with his lips and she responded forcefully. That warmth only he could generate was flooding her veins again, and more tears leaked from her eyes as she considered the mess she'd gotten herself into. But she didn't want to think about it now. Only they mattered right now.

It was not a quiet affair. They each felt that they had something to prove to the other, and they did this as physically and as verbally as they could. She had fucked up, and she only had herself to blame, but she felt whole when they lay together, and she couldn't help but feel that she was just the messed up half of a better something. Nothing else mattered when his lips met hers and when their bodies joined. The pain that came from the fear of losing him was not greater than the joy she experienced in being with him. She realised this now, and her tears of relief returned when she discovered that she wasn't yet too late: that she could still find that warm euphoria in _him_.

-o-

Morty awoke later that night, his mouth incredibly dry. He gently removed Rose's arm from his chest, and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. He was still unsure of how he was going to help her, but he knew he would do it - somehow. Tripp was right; firstly he was going to take her to the doctor, even if they _did_ only give her sleeping pills. Morty stood in the doorframe of their bedroom and watched as she rolled onto her back. Her sleep did not look peaceful, but at least she _was_ asleep.

But his violet eyes narrowed as the light from the kitchen behind him illuminated something. Still frowning, he moved through their bedroom and stood over her, placing his glass of water quietly on her bedside table. He bent down slightly and, without touching her, he examined her arm that was resting above her head on the pillow. Her inner elbow appeared to have a dark mark on it, and when he squinted through the dim light he thought that it might be a bruise. Mystified, he left the bedroom to turn off the kitchen light: he could ask her about it in the morning. Her rucksack caught his eye, from where it was propped against the sofa, and he couldn't seem to drag his eyes from it for some reason. He decided to hang it up tidily, but swore as he picked it up by the handle: it was so heavy and full that, because it was unzipped, everything came tumbling out of it with a crash. Morty winced as he glanced into the bedroom, but Rose didn't wake up. Crouching down, he began to pack everything away again. A little bottle caught his eye – it had nearly rolled under the sofa. He groped for it, and realised that something else had skidded behind it when the contents of the bag tipped. Pulling out the bottle and the other object, Morty inclined his head to the side, unable to make any sense of it. Why was Rose carrying medicine around with her? The bottle read Morphine Sulphate – so it couldn't be for her. He looked from the syringe in one hand to the bottle in the other and his back seemed to break out in a cold sweat. But no, this couldn't be right. She wasn't _injecting_ herself with anything, especially not _morphine_ – for a start the stuff in the syringe was dark brown…

The image of the dark, angry bruise on her inner elbow came unbidden to his dumbfounded mind, and his breath started to come in short, sharp bursts.

Rose winced as Morty switched the bedroom light on. Glancing out of the window she could still see that the sky was still pitch black.

"You okay?" she mumbled, shielding her eyes. This action only caused her bruised arm to stare him straight in the face and he stormed towards her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her roughly out of bed.

"What're you –?"

"What's this?" he hissed, his eyes furious as he forced her bruised inner arm upwards to the light.

"I-it's a bruise," she said quickly trying to pull her arm away, but he held on tightly, "I only noticed it today, I must've –"

"Then what the _fuck_ is this?" he asked dangerously, producing the syringe in his other hand.

He watched in horrified satisfaction as the little blood left in her face drained from it, leaving her chalky white.

"It's an experiment," she said quietly, unable to look at him.

"Oh - _please_ , I'd _love_ to hear about it?" he snarled sarcastically, still refusing to relinquish her arm.

"I was just trying to make morphine faster acting," she gabbled, in what she thought was a convincing tone, "and you know I don't like Pokémon testing, so I just tested myself with it instead – only once mind you -"

"For fuck's sake will you stop _lying_ to me?!" he roared, causing her to jump in alarm, "Do you think I'm _stupid_ or something?" he said as he yanked her towards him, his violet eyes glaring into her face, "Do you think I don't realise what you've _done_?!"

"It's not a big deal," she whispered, the tears pouring down her cheeks, "it's just to help me sleep – to make me _feel_ better –"

"And you needed _heroin_ for that, did you?! Normal temazepam won't quite cut it?!"

For he realised now what she had done. She had taken the morphine and converted it somehow – heaven knows the scientific skill required wasn't beyond her.

"How long?" he asked in a low voice, cutting in again before she could bother defending herself.

"It was only the once –"

"STOP. LYING TO ME!"

She broke down in tears and fell onto the bed, but he couldn't bring himself to feel bad. He could only feel a mute terror; she was ruining her life and he prayed to God he wasn't too late.

"Stop it. Stop crying," he said gruffly, and absently, " _fuck_ knows what you were thinking, but I'm going to make you better."

She stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. He began to pace the bedroom, not looking at her but counting things off on his fingers as he muttered to himself.

"I-it's okay," she sniffed, "I'm not going to do it anymore."

Morty snorted but he did not respond.

"What?! I won't! I'm not _addicted_ –"

"That's good to know," he snapped furiously, as he rounded on her, "it should make the next few days a _lot_ easier for you."

"W-what?" she stammered, but again he ignored her. He still couldn't quite believe she had done this. It was so unlike her to be so stupidly reckless. She was training to be a _doctor_ , how could she have justified this in her head?!

"I'm not an addict," she said, trying to smile as she walked over to him, "you're right, it's silly – I'll stop and –"

"Just get away from me, Rose," he said quietly, "I need to think."

He was furious, and petrified, and he felt sick to his stomach with guilt. He should have noticed; he should have realised long before now what all of this meant. Her irritable moods, her clammy, hot skin, her contracted pupils…but he never would have guessed she'd do this to herself, to _him_.

"Give me your phone," he said suddenly, unable to look her in the eye.

"W-why?"

"I'm calling Tripp."

"Morty, it's five in the morning," she said, trying to seem reasonable, "and _honestly_ –"

"Give me your phone, Rose."

He was in no mood to hear her excuses, and there was no compromise in his violet eyes. Nodding slightly, Rose reached into her bedside drawer and withdrew her phone with shaking hands.

-o-

Tripp woke with a start as his phone vibrated loudly against the bedside table of the hotel room. He saw that it was Rose calling, and suddenly he was wide awake.

"Rose!" he gasped, "are you okay?! Where are you?!"

"It's all right Tripp, it's me," Morty said, his voice hollow.

"Morty! Did you find her? Is she okay?!"

"I found her," he said grimly, "but I'm going to need your help."

"What can I do?" he asked, sitting up in bed and rubbing at his eyes in an effort to wake up.

"Nothing yet," Morty said calmly, "but I'm going to need some things as soon as the shops open. You reckon you can do that for me? I'll pay you back obviously."

"Um, yeah, sure…" Tripp said in surprise, "what's going on?!"

"I'll tell you later. As soon as they open if you don't mind – thanks Tripp."

-o-

Tripp was very glad he had Graveler with him, because Morty had asked him to buy a hell of a lot of non-perishable food and bottled water, and he knew he couldn't have carried it all alone. Morty had also asked for five large packets of face wipes, and a couple of buckets, and Tripp couldn't even begin to guess what was going on.

It was a struggle to get to the top floor with all of the bags, for the building had no lift. Tripp could feel the perspiration beading his forehead but his hands were full of heavy bags and he could not wipe it away. Graveler grinned at him and took the remaining bags from his unresisting hands. Tripp smiled gratefully at his Pokémon, and wiped his forehead in relief.

"Thanks buddy," he sighed.

"Come in," Morty said quietly when he opened the door, taking some bags from the rock type Pokémon. Tripp frowned as she surveyed the Gym Leader; he was very pale indeed, "how much did all this come to?"

"What do you need it all for?" Tripp asked in bewilderment.

Morty ignored him and grabbed his wallet before extracting one hundred Pokéloans.

"It wasn't _that_ much," Tripp said warily. Morty merely threw the money down on the table in front of Tripp and sat down, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Morty - where's Rose?"

"She's in the bedroom," he muttered through his fingers.

"Aren't you going to tell me –?"

"Drugs, Tripp," he spat suddenly, "she's been taking fucking _heroin_."

Tripp felt his mouth fall open stupidly. He was sure he had misunderstood.

"Rose…drugs?"

"Yes," Morty snarled. He stared defiantly at the younger man, waiting for the blame to come his way.

"Since when?" Tripp whispered.

"I don't know," Morty mumbled, his face a mask of misery.

"This isn't your fault you know," Tripp said quietly as he watched him. He could feel the stress radiating from the Gym Leader.

"Of course it's my fault," he laughed mirthlessly, "she's my _wife_ and I didn't notice she was taking a Class A fucking _drug_."

Tripp pressed his fingers to his temples.

"Can I talk to her?"

"Go crazy," Morty muttered darkly, gesturing towards their bedroom.

Still numb from shock, Tripp knocked quietly on the bedroom door. Rose was curled up on the bed, her brown eyes wide and unseeing.

"Tripp!" she gasped through cracked lips; she seemed to be covered in a sheen of sweat, "Tripp: he thinks I'm a drug addict – but I'm not! You believe me don't you? I'm not addicted! I can easily _not_ use it –"

Tripp nodded, but he didn't reply. She was only wearing Morty's t-shirt and knickers and she was gesturing wildly at him.

"You'll stay won't you?" she asked in quiet desperation, "Morty's gone mad, I-I don't know what's gotten into him, he'll barely listen to me and -"

"Rose, calm down," Tripp said quietly, his eyes lingering on the bruise in her elbow crook.

"I am calm!" she insisted, but her wild eyes proved otherwise, "Morty's the mad one, not me! He's hidden my morphine - the bit I developed! He thinks I want to take it but I _don't_ , I just want to show Dr Wood – can you get for me? Can you?" she asked, moving towards him.

Tripp felt his gut wrench as he watched her. She was in deep, and he didn't know whether she knew it and was acting, or whether she was convinced she was fine.

"That wasn't morphine Rose, it's heroin."

She shook her head vigorously.

"No, no, it's morphine, I made it!" she insisted, her hands tremoring slightly as she wrung them together.

Tripp didn't know an awful lot about drugs, but any morphine that was that dark in colour and this strong he was pretty sure was heroin.

"Okay, well…I don't know where it is Rose," he said quietly, staring at her with undisguised pity in his bright blue eyes. She screamed in frustration and launched herself into her pillows. Tripp left the room quickly, and made his way back over to Morty as though in a trance. It was so hard, and so sad to see. This Rose was nothing like the one he had always known, and his heart ached for her, for himself, and for Morty. It was scarily real to see first-hand just how drastically drugs could change a person. It was affecting him terribly enough, and so he had no idea what this would be doing to Morty, who felt unnecessary guilt on top of everything.

"It's pretty bad, isn't it?" Morty said numbly.

Tripp couldn't respond. He sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs and stared at his hands.

"What're you going to do?" he finally croaked, "send her to hospital?"

Morty shook his head, to Tripp's surprise.

"It would ruin her Tripp, everything she's worked for would be lost…I doubt they'd let her set foot in the hospital as a doctor ever again…"

"But…what else can you do?" he whispered, his eyes wide, "she's already craving it, she'll have unlimited access at work! You can't let that happen, Morty!"

"I'm not going to," he said tightly, "I'm going to fix her myself."

Tripp stared at him: maybe Rose was right, maybe he _had_ gone mad.

"W-what?!"

"She's not ill, she's just…she just needs help," he sighed, his unusual eyes filling with tears.

"But what can you do?! You can't lock her up!"

"Yes I can," Morty whispered, looking up at Tripp, "that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Tripp stared at him, at a loss for words.

"She just needs it completely out of her system," he said quietly, "I'm going to keep her safe with me. We'll stay in the bedroom. We've now got plenty of food and water…" his violet eyes roved over the shopping, "and you can lock us in…I'll have my phone on me so I can call you if there's an emergency, but we won't leave otherwise."

He truly was mad. But Tripp could see the logic – almost. Morty was right, it would kill Rose if everyone found out, and her career in medicine would be no more.

"Will you help me?"

Tripp found himself nodding. It was madness, it was crazy, but try as he might he could find no flaw in Morty's plan.

"You'll have to take the bottle and the syringe away with you, get one of your Pokémon to incinerate it," the Gym Leader said. Tripp's face was still pale however, "and don't worry about Rose, she's going to be okay…I'm going to help her."

"What if she gets ill?" Tripp whispered.

Morty shook his head.

"She shouldn't," he sighed, "she's not going to be able to get any more of it…and I know what bad signs to look out for anyway – I-I'll call you if there's an emergency."

Tripp nodded again, and to his surprise, Morty caught him in a tight hug. It was more for his own sake than anything.

Alien though it felt, Tripp put his hand comfortingly upon the blond head, and allowed Morty to cry against his shoulder. This was horrendous, but they had to do it for her.

-o-

Rose sat on the bed, her eyes narrowed and her arms clasped around her restless legs as she watched Morty and Tripp move all of the food, water, and supplies into the bedroom.

"Right," Tripp puffed after about half an hour of lifting and arranging, "I'll be seeing you around?" he asked tentatively.

Morty gave a curt nod, and attempted to smile, but it wouldn't come.

"And…just…let me know if you need anything," he said quietly.

"I will," Morty said gruffly, "…thank you - for everything."

He was fully aware that Tripp had postponed his journey to Hoenn, but he was grateful. He couldn't really have done this without him.

Rose stood abruptly as she saw Morty hand Tripp a key, and shut the door.

"W-what are you doing?!"

"We're going to spend some quality time together," Morty said, his face deadpan, "just you and I."

"Why has he got a key? Where's he going?! _Tripp_!" she screamed, rapping at the bedroom door, but then she heard the front door slam.

She rounded on Morty and opened her mouth to yell at him, but she stopped herself. He really was insane: locking the room to spend _time_ with her? Well, she didn't want to spend time with him. She crossed her arms and sat on the bed, refusing to look at him. She'd show him. She couldn't believe he thought she was a drug addict. It was ridiculous. He'd get bored soon enough, she knew. And when he did she'd get out and find her syringe. She didn't need it, she just…wanted it. She didn't like not knowing where it was.

Morty glanced over at her; she was refusing to acknowledge him, which didn't bother him in the slightest. The calmer and quieter she remained the better for both of them. He took one of her medical textbooks from the little rickety bookcase and began to read it at random.

"I need the toilet," Rose said, with a rush of inspiration.

"There's a bucket there," Morty said casually to her, nodding his head in its direction.

"I'm not going in a _bucket_."

"Well it's the bucket or the floor so take your pick," he said, turning the page and continuing to read.

Rose's mouth fell open. He was just testing her. _He_ wouldn't go in a bucket. She found herself wondering exactly how long they were going to spend in here. She hadn't really needed the toilet however, and so she continued to cross her arms and stare grouchily at the ceiling.

They passed the whole afternoon in silence, and Morty simply continued to read. Rose really did need the toilet now, but she'd be damned if she let him know that. Her forehead was also very sweaty, and she wiped at it with her scrub top which was sticking out of the wash basket.

"You okay?" Morty asked, "want some dinner?"

He was opening a jar of frankfurters and he offered her one. Rose rolled her eyes; she wasn't playing along with this ridiculousness. Morty shrugged and started to eat one plain as he returned to the textbook. Rose was thirsty, but she didn't dare drink. Her urge to go was getting worse and worse, and she had no idea how much longer Morty was planning to play this game. Surely as soon as he needed the toilet it would end?

After another hour, and Rose was sure she was going to burst, he stood up. Her head snapped in his direction and she concealed her grin with difficulty.

 _Here we go_ , she thought in satisfaction. He must need the toilet by now; they'd been in this room for nearly nine and a half hours.

"I suppose someone needs to go first," he said jovially as he unzipped his flies. Rose watched open mouthed in horror. It wasn't watching him go to the loo that bothered her, she had seen that a million and one times. It was the fact that he actually went in the bucket - which meant that she would have to. Hearing him go was enough to push her over the edge, and he had barely finished before she launched herself onto the bucket, her eyes closed in fury and humiliation.

"I don't know what you're embarrassed about," Morty shrugged, "I see you go to the loo most mornings."

It was true. They never really bothered to shut the door. But this was different. This was degrading. He handed her a roll of toilet paper and went back to his book, leaving her scowling but undeniably more comfortable.

"And how long is this going to last?" she asked furiously, still refusing to look at him.

"As long as it takes," he said indifferently, not looking up.

-o-

He could sense her frustration and her panic, and her anger was all too palpable, but she did not speak to him at all over the next day and a half. He could see that she was starting to suffer, however, and badly, and although she did not know it, he kept a close eye on her.

She sat curled up on the bed, shaking profusely and trying to wipe the sweat that kept erupting all over her skin. She glanced over at Morty who was infuriatingly calm. He had been ignoring her completely the last couple of days, and she hated him for it. All he did was read the text book and eat: even at this moment he was contentedly munching on an apple. She couldn't deny that she could make no sense of the situation. He didn't seem to care that she wasn't talking to him, and he was giving no indication that this stint of his was coming to an end. Her mind seemed to be in overdrive but, despite this, she couldn't seem to make sense of anything. Thoughts were rushing through her brain with haste and overlapping each other constantly; they were nonsensical, but the regularity with which they presented themselves emphasised they self-importance they seemed to possess. She couldn't clear her head because she could not relax. Her muscles were in spasm, and it was becoming difficult not to cry out with the increasingly severe pains in her stomach. The sweats kept coming, and her agonising stomach continued to roll with nausea, but nothing was coming up.

Morty looked up to see her in blatant distress and his heart wrenched, but he knew that he was doing the right thing.

"Have some water," he said softly, unscrewing a bottle and walking over to hand it to her.

"I don't want any fucking water," she snapped, slapping the bottle out of his hand. They both watched as the clear liquid chugged from the now horizontal bottle and pooled on the wooden floor. Morty said nothing, but picked up the bottle and replaced the lid, before grabbing a towel from the wash basket and dropping it onto the mess.

"You should try to eat and drink, you'll feel better," he said quietly.

She turned away from him again and continued to shiver and sweat in silence, biting down on her pillow to stifle her groans. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her suffer. In her addled mind she couldn't figure out why she felt so horrendous, but she knew exactly how she could stop it. It must be in here somewhere – that little syringe. She wasn't addicted to the medicine – drug - whatever it was; she just needed it to get rid of these feelings. It wasn't a _craving_ , it was just a…need to feel better, to feel _good_.

Morty stared at her back from his chair in the corner of the room, and he physically repressed his shuddering sigh. He had to forcibly remind himself that he _was_ helping her, and that this was the only way.

-o-

He awoke to a frustrated exclamation of "Fuck!"

Opening his eyes wearily Morty saw Rose sat in the corner of the room on her knees, her face illuminated artificially from the light of the mobile phone held to her ear. He had deleted all of the numbers except for Tripp's, but he knew he wouldn't answer her; she didn't know the prearranged code. Morty placed his hands above his head on the pillow and rested his head on them. Rose heard the movement and scowled in his direction, before she tried the number again.

"Just leave it Rose," Morty yawned, "he's not going to answer."

"Told him not to, did you?!" she snapped sarcastically.

"Yes," Morty said simply.

Rose hadn't expected that answer and she screamed in frustration, stamping her foot.

"You're such a fucking _twat_ ," she seethed, walking over to where he was lying.

He looked up at the hatred in her eyes and had to work extremely hard not to retaliate. She couldn't help it, she was ill, this wasn't really her. He sat up in bed and tried to pull her towards him but she shook him off.

"What're you playing at?! Don't _touch_ me."

"Okay, fine," he sighed, lying back down again. Rose ran and threw herself at the door to no avail. Now she only had a sore shoulder.

"For God's sake Rose, you're not getting out. Just lie down and try to relax," he said quietly.

"Why don't you just give me the syringe?" she said equally as quietly. She was trying to sound reasonable he knew, but he could detect the undertones of deep desperation. Morty closed his eyes in pain; watching her like this was too much. Her wild eyes were sunken, and her hair was matted with sweat.

"I'm not giving you anything Rose,"

"I'm not _addicted_!" she screamed as she threw a tin of peaches at the wall, "I just don't _feel_ very well! It'll make me feel better, I don't want the drug – I just want to feel better!"

"That _is_ addiction, Rose!" he groaned, covering his face with his hands, "whether you think you want the drug or not, you want the feeling it gives you! That's what it means! You're addicted! And you'll do _anything_ you can to get it, won't you?!"

"No -"

" _Yes_! You know there's no way in hell I'd give it to you, but still you're trying! And it's not going to work!"

"I _hate_ you!" she howled, her throat tearing with the effort, "why're you _doing_ this?! I _hate_ you! _Hate_ you! _Hate_ you!" she screamed as she pummelled him with her fists; losing control completely, she thrashed and continued to scream as he pinned her arms by her sides. It took all of his strength because, despite her weakness, she would not give up. But after a while her screams turned to sobs and her limbs fell limp. He let go gently, and watched her cry herself into a dazed stupor.

-o-

The numbness did not last for long: her withdrawal pains and discomfort meant that she was unable to fall asleep. She opened her eyes to see Morty watching her from the chair in the corner of the bedroom, his chin resting tiredly in his cupped hands.

She decided to try a new tactic.

"Please," she said softly, as she got up shakily from the bed. She moved towards him, her eyes wide as she reached out to touch his face, " _please_ Morty, there was only one shot left anyway, a-and after that it'll all be gone…I just feel so sick right now, so _ill_ …"

"I don't have it."

"You _do_!" she screamed.

"I _haven't_!" he yelled back at her. He couldn't hold it in; it was as though she was pulling his teeth out one by one. She was in pain, and she was dreadfully ill, but it was all because of that fucking drug, "Tripp took it," he continued, "and I told him to destroy it. The syringe _and_ the bottle; they're both long gone."

She broke down in tears and clutched at her stomach, eventually falling to the floor in a heap. Morty watched lifelessly as her bare legs writhed and kicked against the wall as she continued to sob loudly. But he couldn't just watch. He knew the only thing that would make her feel 'better' he would never give her, but he could offer comfort. He very much doubted that she wanted it, but he did. He lay next to her on the hard bedroom floor and gathered her into his arms. She continued to cry and struggle against him, but he held her tightly until, exhausted, she gave up and sobbed desperately against his chest. He could feel the clammy dampness of his t-shirt that she hadn't thought to change in the last few days. He lifted her unresistingly into a sitting position opposite him and pulled the top off over her head.

"W-what're you doing?" she hiccoughed, as another convulsion wracked through her. Morty ran both of his hands down her arms; despite having goose bumps, her skin was unpleasantly sticky. He reached behind him and grabbed one of the packets of face wipes. Rose watched him through bleary eyes as he opened them, and proceeded to wipe her face gently. She closed her eyes as the cool, damp fabric touched her skin. Morty didn't stop there. He silently extracted another wipe and did the same to her neck, chest, arms, legs and back. She continued to shake, but her skin didn't feel so uncomfortable now. Rose sat cross-legged in front of him when he fnished and merely stared tiredly into his eyes. He kissed her lips briefly and softly before he walked over to her side of the bed and took up her hairbrush. She always insisted that you should never brush curly hair when dry, but he didn't suppose she would care too much right now. He undid her matted plait with difficulty and began to gently pull the brush through the ends of her long hair, working his way slowly upwards. It took a long time, and must have been painful, but she did not complain once, nor did she make a sound. At one point, she leant backwards so that her back was resting against his chest, but he didn't stop. He moved her hair in front of her, over her left shoulder and continued to brush gently, his arms protectively around her as he did so. He was still brushing long after all of the knots had come out, and he realised after a while that she had fallen asleep against him. He was quite certain that during the two nights locked in the bedroom, she had not slept at all, and so he remained in this uncomfortable position all night, not wishing to wake her. Insomnia would not be helping her body get itself into balance, and so he willingly took this hit.

-o-

He had intended to stay awake, but he hadn't managed it. He woke flat on his back with his neck at an awkward angle against the bedroom skirting. Rose was still sleeping, and did not appear to have awoken when he slipped backwards during the night. She was lying between his legs and her head was upon his stomach. As much as he didn't want to wake her, Morty's muscles were screaming, and so he had to shift slightly. He winced as he sat up, and Rose's eyelids snapped open. Morty could see that she was once again covered in a sheen of sweat, and wordlessly he took the wipes and began the process of cleansing her skin once more. She breathed heavily as she allowed him to do this, but after a while she began to pant and clutch at her stomach once again. Morty held her hand as she kicked and writhed and sobbed upon the floor. For once she didn't seem to be taking her anger out on him, and he kept hold of her hand and stroked the hair back from her face as she battled against her own body.

"It won't go away," she whispered brokenly as she gripped his hand with the little strength she had. He assumed she was talking about the pain, and he wrenched her hand from her stomach so that he could soothe it himself. But she shook her head weakly.

"The images," she sobbed, tears leaking from the corners of her tightly shut eyes, "of you…even now when I'm _awake_ …"

Morty felt himself go cold as her words registered with him.

"And…I'm so tired of being scared," she said, her eyes still closed, "I just want my morphine…it's all I want," she repeated, a catch in her voice, "I want to be _happy_ again."

Morty couldn't prevent the tears rolling down his cheeks. How could she have been so unhappy in the first place that she starting abusing that drug? Surely it was his duty to make sure she was happy? Or, if he was being kind to himself, it was certainly his duty to realise when she wasn't. And now she was twisted, and it broke his heart that she felt she couldn't be happy without the injection.

"What are you scared of?" he whispered, pulling her head onto his lap. Her lips were dry and cracked and her cheekbones were sticking out far too sharply in her pale face.

"Sleeping," she croaked, "I'm even scared of _being_ scared…"

Although she felt horribly sick still, her mind seemed slightly clearer than it had in the last two days. It was agonising, the effort it took to process her thoughts, but at least she now had the ability. She turned her head to the side so that her nose was grazing his trouser leg and breathed him in deeply.

"I saw you die once, I don't want it to happen again," she mumbled as the shivers started once more.

"Why would you even worry about something like that?" he asked quietly. He knew they still had a long way to go, but the fact he was able to have a conversation with her sent his anguished brain spinning into relief.

"Because it's happened before and I know how it feels," her eyes fluttered behind her closed lids, "and I don't think I could do it again…"

Morty bit down hard on his tongue to prevent his own sob rising up his throat. He didn't want her to feel this way because of him.

"And…I stopped wanting to spend time with you because…oh I've told you this before…" she mumbled, as more tears trickled down her cheeks.

"I still don't understand why you think about it so much now? What's changed? You were fine for months…" Morty said quietly, frowning as he stared down into her wasted face.

Rose gave a half-hearted shrug.

"It's not that I thought about it consciously…" she slurred, her tongue feeling like a dead weight in her mouth, "I just started re-living it in my dreams…and then I couldn't be rid of the images…and - and spending time with you in the day…and seeing Pokémon die at the hospital…it was just all too much of a forceful reminder…and I couldn't cope," she gave another pronounced shiver and her teeth began to chatter.

Morty's mouth fell open as she said these words, and he could feel the cogs in his brain whirring. He glanced over to where the medical textbook was lying face down on the chair, and he itched to reach over and grab it. But then she spoke again.

"And that's where the morphine came in," she whispered, her eyes still closed. It was painful talking about this, but every word that she admitted she felt a little lighter inside, "I knew I was hurting you…and I know you thought I didn't want to spend time with you…" she took in a deep breath, "the truth is that I _did_ want to…very much so, but I knew that the repercussions at night would be horrific…and the morphine relaxed me…i-it took away the fear, so I could just enjoy your company for once…"

Morty wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, before he replaced it gently on her clammy forehead.

"I took it first the night Eusine came to stay," she admitted in a whisper.

Morty swallowed as he remembered that night. He'd thought she was better then - little did he realise it was the turning point that could have killed her.

"And it helped…but then it wore off and I needed more…and then after a few times it felt like it stopped working altogether, and they realised at the hospital that some had gone missing…I had a limited supply that I needed to make last, and so I tried altering its properties, I wanted to make it stronger and faster acting…"

Morty lifted her so that she was curled up in his lap. He didn't want to hear anymore. It wasn't as black and white as he had first imagined, and it killed him to know how much she had been suffering. She continued to tremor against him and he held her tightly. The textbook could wait – she needed him.

-o-

Her period of calm was short-lived. She was grouchy and irritable for the rest of the day, but Morty did not rise against her. He was more hopeful now than ever that his plan would work, and he needed to remain calm and strong. She had been through enough without him adding to it. He was still desperate to get his hands on the book, but he didn't want her to think he was merely ignoring her again. This situation was delicate and, although she was short-tempered once again, he did not want to have to rebuild the bridge that they had so tentatively crossed that morning.

"I suppose I've lost my scholarship place?" she muttered irritably as she lay shivering on their messed up bed. Morty averted his eyes from her agitated, feebly kicking legs.

"No, of course not," he said, handing her some crackers and a cup of water. She did not take them from him, and so he placed them patiently next to her on the bedside table, "I told Dr Wood I was taking you away for a short break."

Rose snorted derisively when she considered her actual situation.

"And the Gym?"

"I'm the Gym Leader," he shrugged, "I can shut it whenever I want for as long as I want…within reason," he added.

"I feel so fucking sick," she whispered hoarsely as she stared at the ceiling. She wiped at her nose with toilet paper, but she couldn't stop it running, no more could she stop her stomach cramps, body tremors or sweating fits, "I really want a shower," she sighed, "can we not leave this room yet?" her eyes began to well up with tears, "are we really still _in_ here?!"

She wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be another nightmare. She began to sob quietly, her mind in limbo. Everything was so strange. She didn't even know what she wanted – except to stop feeling so wretched.

"We're not leaving," he said, moving to sit beside her. She looked so ill, but she relaxed slightly as he stroked her long dark hair. He continued to do so until her wet eyes began to droop sleepily. She must be so sleep deprived – not only from the drug withdrawal but from the sleepless month that preceded it too. As soon as he was certain that she was asleep, Morty eased himself off the bed and moved to the chair where the book was waiting. He rifled through the pages hastily, but forced himself to slow down in case he woke her with the rustling. He was no medic, but some things had clicked for him that morning, and if his guess was correct…well, it made a lot of sense. He opened the book at the contents and decided to search properly – in his haste he was getting nowhere. Down the column his finger ran until he found the section on psychological illness, page 222. He found the chapter that he wished to read and soon became engrossed in it. It had only been the previous day that he read it, but at that time he hadn't been concentrating properly, all his true focus on Rose. The more he read, however, the more he was certain he was right.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He violet eyes flew across the page as he hurried to process all of the information.

 _PTSD is a psychiatric disorder that can occur in people or Pokémon who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event such as a natural disaster, a serious accident, a terrorist act, war/combat, rape or other violent personal assault._

Or perhaps watching someone you love die and be brought back to life through flame?

 _PTSD is a real illness that causes real suffering. Long after the traumatic event has ended, those with PTSD continue to have intense, disturbing thoughts and feelings related to their experience. They may relive the event through flashbacks or nightmares; they may feel sadness, fear, or anger; and they may feel detached or estranged from others. Those with PTSD may avoid situations or others that remind them of the traumatic event, and they may have strong negative reactions to something as ordinary as a loud noise or an accidental touch._

Morty began to breathe heavily as he read this: flashbacks, nightmares…

 _Exposure to an upsetting or traumatic event is necessary for a diagnosis of PTSD. However, exposure could be indirect rather than first hand. For example, PTSD could occur in an individual who learns that a close family member or friend has died accidentally or violently._

 _Symptoms of PTSD fall into four categories. Specific symptoms can vary in severity._

 _ **Intrusive symptoms**_ _such as repeated involuntary memories, distressing dreams, or flashbacks of the traumatic event. Flashbacks may be so vivid that individuals feel they are re-living the event or seeing it before their eyes._

If he had to watch her die every night he was sure he'd feel pretty shit too.

 _ **Avoidance of reminders**_ _of the traumatic event include avoidance of individuals, places, activities, objects and situations that bring on distressing memories. Those affected may try to avoid remembering or thinking about the event. For example, they may resist talking about what happened or how they feel about it._

This also rang true: by avoiding him she was effectively avoiding attachment with him, thus attempting to staunch the nightmares…

 _ **Negative thoughts and feelings**_ _may include persistent and distorted beliefs about oneself or others (e.g 'I am bad,' 'No one can be trusted'); persistent fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame; markedly diminished interest in activities; or feeling detached or estranged from others._

 _ **Arousal and reactivity symptoms**_ _may include irritable behaviour and angry outbursts; reckless or self-destructive behaviour; exaggerated startle response; problems with concentration; or sleep problems._

Self-destructive behaviour…

 _Many who are exposed to a traumatic event experience symptoms like those described above in the days or weeks following the event. In PTSD, however, symptoms last for at least a month and often persist for months and sometimes years. Many individuals develop symptoms within 3 months of the trauma, but others' symptoms appear later. A diagnosis of PTSD requires that symptoms cause significant distress or impaired functioning. PTSD often occurs with—or may contribute to—other related disorders, such as depression, substance use, difficulty with memory, and other problems of physical and mental health._

Morty exhaled slowly as he came to the end of the text. It made perfect sense. All of it.

-o-

Rose was breathing shallowly in her sleep, and her body was still convulsing slightly. He knew she was better than she had been, but she was still nowhere near well.

"Rose?" he whispered as he shook her shoulder gently, "Rose – wake up, I want to talk to you."

She opened her eyes heavily and peered up at him.

"I feel horrible," she croaked.

"I know you do," he said quietly, "but this is important…really important."

Rose sat up weakly and tried to ignore the pains in her legs and stomach. It was rough, but she couldn't deny it was better than the previous two days had been.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice lifeless.

Morty swallowed hesitantly as he wondered how best to approach this. It had just seemed to hit him exactly what they were doing, exactly what had _happened_. She had been taking drugs, but she had been taking them because she was psychologically ill – this was in no way her fault…he wasn't really sure if anyone was to blame, although his mind lingered on the Dragon Tamers – her father in particular…

"Morty?"

"I think we should talk about –" he hesitated, "we've been avoiding this for a long time, and…I think -" he inhaled sharply, his violet eyes tight with pain.

Rose, despite her aches and sickness, felt her heart contract and her blood run cold. She can't have been easy to live with, but she had never in a million years dreamed they'd be having this conversation, five months after getting married.

"We should talk about what happened in the mountain," he said abruptly in a rush.

Rose gave a great shuddering gasp of gut-wrenching relief and began to cry silently into her hands. Morty held her close to him, feeling incredibly guilty, but it had to be done. He knew they needed to treat the cause of the problem, not just the symptoms.

"D-don't you _ever_ do that again," she hiccoughed, shoving him weakly in the chest.

"But Rose, we need to talk about it… _both_ of us," he gulped.

"I don't mean that," she muttered, glaring at him reproachfully, "I mean you phrasing it like you wanted to break up with me."

Morty blinked, but couldn't help but give a snort of laughter, and his heart soared when her own lips twitched. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her smile.

"As if," he whispered, kissing her softly.

Brightness. She was still his light, and yet when she was in darkness he was too. He would pull them both out, even if it killed him. They deserved that and much, much more.

"But I don't really want to talk about the mountain either," she mumbled, "it's bad enough thinking about it unwillingly…"

"Which is why we need to get it out in the open," he said earnestly, "it'll help, I swear and…I-I think I need to talk about it too."

He stared into her eyes, and she frowned slightly as she saw the beginnings of fear.

"Do you ever have nightmares?" she asked quietly.

"No," he shook his head, "I never thought about it at all until _you_ started having nightmares…but that's not healthy, Rose. It was a huge event in our lives, even if we don't want it to have been. We can't keep ignoring it, or it will eventually turn inwards and drive us mad."

She nodded slowly. Turning inwards, forever inwards, and releasing itself through horrific nightmares. Fears and emotions she could never stifle, resorting to _drugs_ …

"I don't want to want it anymore," she croaked, her brown eyes wide with fear. He knew what she meant.

"I know you don't," he sighed as he held her face in his hands. She was coming back to him, slowly, but she was definitely coming back, "and I'm going to help you."

"H-how?" she whispered, her lip trembling, "you can lock me up until the withdrawal passes, but what about when we finally leave here? What happens when I have _another_ nightmare? When I get hold of more? Because you were right, they can lock it up at the hospital if they want, but when it takes over I'd do _anything_ to get some…"

Her face was chalk-white, and her eyes were distant.

"Because we're going to talk about what happened," he insisted, "only we were there, only we can help each other. And that's exactly what we're going to do."

"But that won't stop my nightmares," she said desperately, "I _know_ what it's like for you to die Morty, and now we're _married_ , and it _petrifies_ me that I only love you more every day – what happens if you die now? How could I _possibly_ cope?"

"Of course you would cope," he said quietly, wiping her tears away, "you'd have no other choice because there's no way in _hell_ I'll let you do drugs again – even if I'm dead," he said with a small laugh, realising what he'd just implied.

She smiled back sadly, but he wasn't convincing her.

"Rose; everyone's going to die; it's the only inevitable thing in life! And this sounds so fucking corny, but if you spend your life worrying about death you won't _live_! And…life's not _about_ the destination…it's about the journey."

He stared at her intently, desperately trying to reach her.

"And you know how it goes…it's like going to the dentist: the more you build something up in your mind the worse it gets, and then when it comes to it, the actual thing isn't so bad after all."

"Are you comparing you dying to getting a filling?" she asked, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"I suppose I am," he said, struggling to keep his face straight, "but in all honesty, I'm not scared of death…it scares me that had I died I wouldn't have this right now, but Rose, if you're going to let this rule you then what do we really have anyway? I want everything, and I want it with you, but I'm going to need you to want it just as badly as I do."

Rose nodded. She understood him completely.

"Do you know what scares me? More than anything?" he whispered.

Rose shook her head.

"This," he said quietly, "the thought that if you go down the wrong path I might not be able to save you. You saved me Rose, and it's _killing_ me that I'm failing you, that I can't manage to do the same for you."

"This isn't your fault," she stammered, her eyes wide with horror: she couldn't believe he was finding a way to blame himself for her stupidity.

"Nor is it yours," he said earnestly. Rose frowned slightly, but she couldn't read his eyes, "you didn't take drugs because you're weak Rose…and those…those are no ordinary nightmares."

"What?" she asked bluntly.

He got up from the bed and reached for the textbook, flicking to where he'd dog-eared the page.

"Read this," he said, passing it to her. But Rose shook her head – the tiny black words on the white page made her head ache.

"Read it to me?"

-o-

Rose did not speak for a while after Morty finished reading. He didn't say anything, but watched her warily. The expression on her face was unreadable, and he started to worry that he'd offended her.

"It…makes sense?" she finally said.

"It makes perfect sense."

"I feel like it all fits, but I don't know if that's only because I _want_ it to…" she began to chew on her lip, staring straight up at the ceiling. Morty frowned; he could make no sense of her response.

"I don't understand…why would you _want_ to have it?" he asked quietly.

Rose heaved a great sigh and turned to face him.

"During these past couple of days I suppose I've been coming into myself more – I feel slightly better anyway and…although my body still…wants it," she turned red, "my mind's clarity is returning,"

Morty nodded, but he was still confused where she was going with this.

"Morty, this isn't me; I never in a million _years_ thought I'd find myself in this situation," she whispered, her voice breaking, "and these last couple of days I've felt sickened by myself. How could I have been so weak - so _stupid_?!" Morty began to shake his head but she ignored him and continued speaking, "And how did I _ever_ justify doing this to you? It probably would have ruined us if you hadn't realised what I was doing… _I_ realise it _now_ , but I was completely deluded."

One of the things she loved about him was that he never looked at her with pity in his eyes. Even now, he was more serious than she had ever seen him, but he was not pitying.

"You think that you're _trying_ to make it 'fit' your situation, because you think that deep down you're trying to find an excuse," he said.

"That's exactly what I think."

"Well I don't," he said baldly, "you had the symptoms at least a month before you started on the morphine."

Rose nodded slowly. She wanted to believe him, and on paper it made so much sense, but she was scared that she would simply attribute her substance abuse to this disorder and…what then? What if she started again? Was she really strong enough _not_ to use it if she was in a situation where she could? And if she wasn't strong enough then she would be faced with the hideous reality that she was nothing more than a pathetic junkie.

"Rose," Morty insisted with a half smile, "you're far from pathetic."

Her face was easily read, and it saddened him how she couldn't just readily believe that she was ill, and that it wasn't all on her shoulders.

"And also," he continued, "if you _were_ trying to use it as an excuse I don't think you'd be doubting it – you'd be seizing it."

Rose didn't answer.

"What is it?" Morty asked softly, moving to sit next to her on the bed.

She swallowed.

"I don't really know," she whispered, "I suppose I've just realised this could now rule my life, and I don't want it to – I don't want to be one of those people: 'oh she had so much going for her – poor girl, stupid girl, bloody _drugs_."

The tears sprang to her eyes.

Morty held her face in his hands so tightly it hurt.

"That's not going to be you," he insisted roughly, "there's no way in hell I'm going to let that be you. Why else do you think I really locked us up in here? It's so I could watch you constantly! To make sure you had zero chance of getting any morphine, and zero temptation to go looking for it: this is the only way I can help you Rose. Doctors, rehab – it's all bullshit. You know better than _anyone_ that at the end of the day it's all science, and your body needs a chance to get itself back into balance…and that's what I've been making sure has been happening."

He was breathing heavily by the time he finished, but Rose smiled slightly to his surprise.

"It's funny…at first I believed you when you said it was so we could 'spend time together', but then you ignored me…and then I assumed you were punishing me for taking drugs in the first place, that you wanted me to suffer because I'd been such an unholy bitch to you…but that wasn't it, was it?"

He shook his head, and she continued to speak, an undertone of awe discernible in her voice.

"And you would never just take me to the doctor for it and be done with it, because you couldn't trust me enough if I wasn't always with you, you needed to make sure it was in your hands alone…"

"Also because I didn't want to ruin your career," he admitted, "but you're right – this first week is crucial: it's the hardest week for you, and I'm sure you'll agree that left to your own devices you _would_ have found some morphine…"

"Undoubtedly," she whispered, her eyes wide, "and I never would have been able to sit through those first couple of days, but you made it so that I had no other choice…"

She glanced about the bedroom and truly appreciated what he had done for her. Packets and empty jars littered the room; neither of them had showered since being in here, and she didn't even want to think about the buckets outside on the balcony. She properly looked at him for the first time in days and she noticed the worry lines that were now permanently etched around his mouth and on his forehead. She reached out to stroke them and his eyes closed at her touch.

"It was the only choice I had," he said softly, "it's like you said…there's no way I was going to allow you to become one of those tragic drug stories, and so I did what I needed to."

She kissed him gently on the lips, marvelling that he was still here after everything she'd put him through recently.

"I wonder," she whispered as she kissed him again, "would anyone keep to drugs if they had you in their lives?"

He chuckled at her blatant hyperbole, but he kissed her back. She felt so fragile, and so he held her tentatively at her hips, and refused to allow himself to lose control. He could feel her straining to move closer to him, to try to kiss him harder, but he wouldn't let her.

"Not until you're better," he laughed lightly, smiling against her mouth.

Rose groaned, but rolled her eyes playfully as she lay back on the bed.

"If that's a tactic to stop me drug craving, it's a good one," she muttered, her lips twitching nonetheless.

-o-

It only took a couple more days for her symptoms to decrease drastically, but Morty was still nervous, and so they remained locked in the bedroom together for a full three days after this.

"I'm starting to think _you're_ the one with the problem," Rose grimaced, "whilst running the risk of sounding like a very crafty junkie here, can't we please just call Tripp so we can get out of here and have a freaking shower?!"

Morty chuckled, and Rose couldn't help but grin in return. Despite feeling disgustingly grotty, he was…happy. Of course, he wasn't naïve enough to believe that she was cured yet: he was all too aware of how long the cravings could last, but she was definitely over the worst of it, and if she genuinely did not want to take it anymore, and as long as they made sure her nightmares were controlled, and preferably eradicated, he was hopeful.

"Tripp's in Hoenn," he said casually.

Rose's mouth fell open.

"He is not."

"He most certainly is," Morty said, a twinkle in his violet eyes, "I promise you."

"W-what?!" she gaped; she had been so looking forward to leaving this room, and he was cheerily telling her they had no guaranteed way out.

"It's okay," he said, taking off his sock, "I have a key in here."

"You've had a key to this door…the whole time?!"

"Well obviously," he laughed, "I needed one in case there was a serious emergency. I just staged it that Tripp had the key so that you assumed there was no way out."

"You -" she began to splutter, before laughing in spite of herself.

Morty smiled mockingly at her, but he could already feel the panic setting in. Although he trusted her, he didn't trust the drug itself and the effect that it had on those who had once depended on it. He pushed the panic back however. He _had_ to trust her, and he had to trust himself. They were both open about what had happened, and he knew exactly what to look for should she relapse; he couldn't keep her in here with him forever – horribly tempting though the prospect was.

-o-

The shower was almost painfully hot - but they needed it. They stood together under the pulse of water, and Morty could not decide which sensation was the most pleasurable: her wet body pressed up against his, or the clean, fresh water beating down on his head. Their lips met again and they continued to kiss, half drowning in the constant rush of water that poured down upon them from above. Although he could hardly breathe between her lips and the water he could not let her go, and he held her tightly to him until his head span and their water-logged fingers grew crinkled. He was aware that the next few months would be difficult, and may be strained with hardship, but he couldn't bring himself to care. She was with him, and she was herself, and he was going to do everything and anything he could to ensure it stayed that way.

They lay together on the sofa, their fingers entwined and their skin particularly pink from the long, scalding shower.

"Rose?"

"Mm?"

"For these next few months I'm going to be keeping an annoyingly close eye on you," he said softly.

She nodded. She wanted him to. She didn't want to find herself going down that route again.

"I'm only saying it now because I want you to remember, if you start to resent me for it, that I'm doing it because I love you."

She turned to face him and smiled slightly at the genuine worry and fear in his violet eyes.

"I want you to do it," she whispered, "I'm not going to be so bold as to say I'm over it, because I'm sure there will be times when I'm tempted…" she swallowed, "but I want you to be checking long after that time has passed…check my bag, my pupils, my veins – everything. I don't want it to ever come between us again, and I'll do my best myself…but I think you know I can't do it alone."

Morty nodded and kissed the top of her head gently.

"I also think we should tell Dr Wood that you have Post-Traumatic Stress," he said softly, "only because it gives him an excuse to keep an eye on you at the hospital…but he doesn't have to know exactly _why_ he's doing so…you know what I mean?"

"I know," Rose sighed, "but I don't really think I should go back to the hospital…"

"Why not?" Morty asked calmly.

"Well, it's not the only career option," she said, "I still reckon I could floor you in a Pokémon battle…" Morty rolled his eyes but grinned nonetheless, "but seriously, maybe I should steer clear of the 'medicine/potential death of Pokémon' scene for a while…"

"I disagree," he said quietly, and Rose looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

"You've always loved Pokémon medicine, and I do not think for a _second_ that this should control you enough to limit your choices. I also think that the sooner you're exposed to all of that – fear, temptation, whatever - the sooner you can learn to get through it and deal with it, and not just avoid it."

She chewed on her lip worriedly as his words sank in.

"I'm going to be there the whole time," he said quietly, "whenever you need me; there won't be a second when you feel alone."

Rose could feel her eyes begin to sting with tears but she nodded. He was right. There was no reason she should ever have to face anything alone again.

"And remember what we said?" he continued, "My dying was pretty pointless if nothing good can come from it; it should make us _appreciate_ life, and embrace it, not shy away from it."

He was looking at her earnestly, and she felt her heart swell with emotion. He was wholly right; by fearing something it didn't decrease the likelihood of it happening, it only ruined your quality of life. Happiness was a choice, and Rose decided that she was going to be happy from now on whatever happened. She forced herself to remember that she could be in a very different situation right now; he may never have returned to her, and she would never have had the chance to love him and join her path with his. In all honesty, she was incredibly lucky.

"And…even if one of us _did_ die anytime soon…at least we would have had this – right?" she asked, her brown eyes serious.

"Right," he whispered as he nuzzled her jaw with his lips, "after all, how many men can say they married someone who brought them back to life?"

Rose laughed softly.

"And how many women can say their husband anonymously and secretly saved the world from an untimely and painful end?"

"My, my," he muttered as he kissed her, "aren't we lucky?"

Rose smiled as he crushed her towards him, and she ran her fingers contentedly through his, finally clean, hair.

-o-

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?" the handsome young doctor asked with a frown.

Morty and Rose nodded from where they were sat opposite him, their hands tightly clasped.

"I had a bad accident a few months ago," Morty said guardedly, "and it was…difficult for Rose."

Horatio was silent for a few moments, but he did not take his dark green eyes from the pair.

" _Just_ PTSD?" he asked quietly, his voice disturbingly knowing.

Morty and Rose glanced at one another, unsure how to respond.

"I've been watching you, Rose," Dr Wood continued sadly, "and had Morty not taken you out of work when he did, I would have been forced to do it myself."

They merely stared at him, afraid to speak until they knew exactly where he was going with this.

"Substance abuse is very common amongst medical staff," he said with a sad smile, "I should know…"

Rose's mouth fell open.

"Death, guilt, and all the shit that comes with it," he said bitterly, "is it really surprising that sometimes we need a little something to get us through the day? To stop us hating ourselves for our inevitable failures?"

Horatio looked incredibly old, and incredibly drawn as he said these words.

"You're looking much better Rose; of course you won't be right for a long time, if ever, but you look happier…what did you do?"

"I locked her up," Morty said defiantly, "it's the only way –"

"I agree with you completely – rehab? Pft! Rehab is like those fad diets that women seem to insist on trying. Yes, it's all well and good to completely detox, to escape the situation where it happens, but what about when you go back? Rehab is only temporary, and it's inevitable that you'll slip back into old ways…old habits again…"

"What're you saying, Dr Wood?" Rose asked nervously.

"I'm saying that you've been given a reprieve Rose, and they don't come around often," he turned to Morty, "that was incredibly risky, what you did for her, but it was the right thing to do."

Rose still couldn't believe he'd guessed. All of their secrecy was for nothing – he would never let her back.

"I assume you want me to keep an eye on you at work?" he asked, nodding, "Well I'd been doing that anyway, but obviously not very well…"

"Y-you're letting me back?"

"Rose, if I did not I would be the world's biggest hypocrite. But precautions must be taken. I do not think it…necessary that you be at the hospital for the time being – your practical skills certainly need no honing…stay at home with Morty for now. Study the theory. When you are feeling better – stronger – I would be honoured to have you back."

She was stunned, and humbled. He understood; he had been through the same. And now she would always have someone watching her, and they would know exactly what to look for.

"Take care, Rose," Dr Wood said quietly, "and continue what you're doing," he said to Morty, "although I don't think you realise the enormity of what you have already achieved."

The young couple left the office, and Horatio exhaled slowly. He had been worried something of the sort might happen to her; it always happened to the best – he was all too aware of that. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a little packet of white, crystalline powder. He deliberated for a moment before shrugging and tipping a small amount onto a spoon. Not everyone could be saved – it would upset the balance of things.

-o-

The next month passed quietly, and relatively calmly. Apart from some restless, but nightmare free nights, Rose was feeling a lot better. It helped that Morty was with her almost constantly. She studied her theory in Tarragon Gym whilst he worked, and they would go home together in the evenings. He would cook, and they would talk, or go out somewhere, or even just watch television. They were just content to be together. Sometimes Jay and Bianca would visit, and this enabled them to open up their world a little, but they both liked it best when they were alone.

Morty was quietly optimistic that she was growing from strength to strength. She admitted that sometimes she wanted to feel the rush that the drug had given her, but they had an easy remedy for that craving…All in all he had never felt closer to her, and he could hardly believe that a mere month and a half ago he thought they might be on the brink of ending.

At half past five on Monday morning, Morty woke up, yawning loudly. The Gym was due to open at six, and he always liked to shower before starting work.

"Rose?" he said, poking her awake, "get up – it's half five."

Rose opened her eyes blearily and shuddered slightly as she clutched at her stomach.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he grabbed his towel.

She raced past him into the bathroom and was violently sick into the toilet.

"Rose?" he asked as he felt her forehead – it was hot…and very clammy. He could feel his throat constrict with fear, but he forced himself to remain calm.

"M-maybe it was those prawns last night?" she said weakly as she wiped her mouth. Her eyes were strangely bright and her face was paler than he had seen it in a long time.

Morty nodded, but he had also eaten the prawns and he felt fine.

"Rose…it's not -?"

"I haven't touched any," she whispered, "I swear I haven't – I don't want it. Check me, check everything!"

He felt guilty as he did it, for he knew it implied he didn't believe her, but it was for the best. But her pupils were normal, and there were no tell-tale marks on her arms or anywhere else.

"Maybe you're just under the weather?" he said uncertainly.

"Yeah, maybe…" she sighed, as she tied her sweaty hair back into a ponytail.

-o-

He came into the back room where he stored his potions and other battle items, to find Rose staring blankly at the textbook in front of her.

"How're you feeling?" he asked as he took a swig from his water bottle.

"A little odd actually," she frowned, "Would you mind if I went home?"

Morty's breathing became faster as her words sank in. She wanted to go home. Alone.

"Rose…"

"I swear to you Morty, I'm not taking anything, nor do I want to…I just feel rough and I could do with a lie down."

He knew he couldn't control her, and he had no desire to either, but one small slip and everything they had carefully repaired could come crashing down.

"Okay," he said quietly against his better judgement, "I'll come home for lunch, all right? And…and if you're feeling better, you can come back here with me after?"

Rose nodded briskly and avoided his violet eyes. She could see the fear in them, even though he was trying desperately hard not to show it.

"I love you," he said intently as he raised her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. She did so unflinchingly and he smiled slightly, feeling a little mollified.

"I love you too," she said, as she hugged him tightly around the waist.

-o-

"Rose?" he called as he let himself into their flat at lunchtime, dropping his bag onto the sofa. There was no immediate answer, but he forced himself not to panic. She was probably asleep. He walked quickly to their bedroom, trying hard to keep his pace normal, but his heart jumped into his throat as he realised the room was empty. He ran to the bathroom, but the door was wide open, and she was not in there. Morty sprinted for the front door and launched himself down the staircases, running out into the bright, midday summer sun. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his back, and he ignored the frantic pumping of his heart as he sprinted for the town centre.

 _Maybe she's gone to the Gym…maybe she felt better and made her way back?_

But she was not at the Gym, and nobody had seen her. Morty cursed aloud as he spun frantically on the spot, his eyes ever searching for her. But Tarragon City was enormous, and he knew he would only be wasting time if he searched for her on foot. He didn't have his mobile phone on him, he never used it when he was with her, and so he sprinted back to the flat in earnest for his Pokéball belt. Gengar – Gengar would find her in a second. It was probably fine anyway, he tried to convince himself - she had probably just gone to buy milk or something…they would be laughing at his panic come the evening…

He leapt through the front door as soon as he unlocked it, and pulled his Pokéball belt from his rucksack with lightning speed. He turned to run out of the door again, but he had a sneaking suspicion something was different. He turned slowly on the spot and came face to face with the closed bathroom door. He hadn't closed it before he left – he was sure of it.

Gulping, unsure what he might find, Morty crept towards the bathroom and knocked lightly on the door.

"Morty?" he heard her croak.

He felt his hands begin to shake with relief. He had found her, but he still had no idea what was going on.

"Rose…are you okay? C-can I come in?"

"You can come in," he just about heard her whisper.

He gently pressed on the handle of the door, and stood still as it swung open to reveal her standing there staring at him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, and he could not fathom why there was a smile of bewildered ecstasy on her face. That was until he registered the little white stick in her hand.

They stared at one another with wide eyes, before Morty heard a strangled, relieved laugh escape his lips. Hardly daring to believe it, yet knowing it was true because of the innate, overwhelming happiness he felt expand in his chest, he took her in his arms and kissed her softly.

"You thought I was taking drugs didn't you?" she giggled.

He had the grace to look guilty, but she laughed at him and rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes happily.

"How long have you suspected?" he asked as he held her tighter. He could hardly believe what was nestled between them at this very minute - what was inside of her at this very moment.

"For about twenty minutes?" she said brightly. It had only hit her when she was home alone. Heroin could mess up your menstrual cycle, but she just had a feeling…

"So when I came back…?"

"I must have been at the pharmacy," she said quietly, her brown eyes still bright, "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to worry you…"

"You didn't worry me…you _petrified_ me," he murmured against her lips, "but I think I can forgive you, just this once…" he smiled as he gazed into her eyes.

They continued to hold onto one another in awed silence. It was a brand new step, a completely fresh start, and one that they had both been secretly hoping for, for quite some time.


End file.
